Because I Said So
by ruth baulding
Summary: An early adventure set in the innocent days following Lineage I. Qui-Gon Jinn and his new Padawan work on the basics... and learn a few things along the way.
1. Chapter 1

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"No, Padawan. The answer has not changed. We are still going."

Obi-Wan shoved both hands inside opposite sleeves, threading his fingers together to keep them still. A pair of blue eyes watched Qui-Gon Jinn's face intently; a young mouth thinned into a determined line.

The Jedi master raised his brows, prompting.

A moment's confused hesitation, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. Yes, master."

After two months' hard practice, they were getting better. The tall man turned and led the way down the passage, beneath the wide arch leading to the healers' domain, and into the soothing antechamber. As he walked, his Padawan fell further and further behind, until the boy had drifted from his position at Qui-Gon's side to a reluctant three paces behind and to the left.

Eyes twinkling, he summoned his young and somewhat lagging satellite forward with a short one-handed gesture. "Do I sense an _insurrection _ brewing?" he teased.

"Your legs are longer than mine, master," his apprentice offered.

"Oh? Except when we are on the way to the dining hall, hm? At which time, yours appear to be longer than mine."

Outmaneuvered, the young Jedi held his tongue and settled for hunching his shoulders in vexation, the cloth of his slightly oversized robe sliding over his relatively slender frame. Qui-Gon reached out to tweak the adorable stump of a learner's braid sprouting behind the boy's right ear.

Senior Healer Ben To Li greeted them personally. "I thought you would never make it. Padawan, it is good to see you again."

Obi-Wan bowed. "It has been a pleasure, Master Li. Until our next meeting." He took a tentative step backward.

"No you don't." the healer draped a hospitable arm across the boy's back "Come into my parlor, said the arachnid to the fly. I'm told Master Jinn is dragging you off to X'Naar for some dreadful diplomatic talk-fest… perhaps I can be persuaded to place a medical restriction on you. – I am open to both flattery and bribes." So saying, he steered his young guest along an interior hall and deep into his lair.

"But I _want_ to go," Obi-Wan protested. "I've never attended real negotiations before."

The two elder Jedi exchanged an amused glance over his head.

"Well, then, you'll be wanting this vaccine as well. The whole Mid Rim is in the grips of this pandemic. Mellsh Pox is nothing you wish to tangle with, believe me. It manifests very acutely in humans."

QuiGon relieved his charge of his cloak while Ben To putzed about with his supplies in a corner.

"What about _you_ master? You said just yesterday that _a true teacher treads every step of the path ahead of his student._ Doesn't that mean you ought to take the first turn?"

The Jedi master held out a placating hand. "And I have – before you were born. I have in fact _had_ the Mellsh pox, and am therefore immune."

The Padawan brightened. "Then perhaps I should simply take the same chance, and risk contracting it naturally?"

But his argument was quashed with a small shake of Qui-Gon's head. "No. I wouldn't wish it upon you." He tapped his crooked nose. "I bear the scars to this day."

His apprentice risked a skeptical eye roll, shifting testily as Ben To approached with a predatorial light in his bright black eyes. "I still don't see _why_," he complained, grumpily struggling out of his tunics.

"Not so fast, young one," the healer advised with a dark chuckle. "We're going to tackle this problem from behind, so to speak."

Qui-Gon placidly endured the scathing look sent in his direction by his affronted student. In answer to the petulant _why? _broadcasting across their fledgling Force bond, he leaned down, a smirk playing about the corners of his mouth.

"Because I said so," he gravely intoned, holding his Padawan's burning gaze for a full ten count as Ben To got down to business with a brusque and merciless efficiency.

They left a few minutes later. Obi-Wan's legs seemed to have mysteriously lengthened in the interim, for he unconsciously took the lead, striding away from the healers' ward with great purpose and only a slight limp.

"Padawan."

The single word brought the aggreived youngster to heel, and they proceeded along the next concourse with something resembling proper Jedi tranquility. Qui-Gon made a right hand turning and descended a wide stair, then turned left and skirted the colonnaded arcade outside the Hall of Consonant Wisdoms. Obi-Wan trotted curiously beside him, eyes turned up in wonder at the colossal statues flanking the west wall.

Only after the tall man had made a few more needless and labyrinthine detours through the Temple's less frequented third level halls and corridors did his protégé ask the obvious question. "I thought we were to stop at the quartermaster's stores?"

"We are going there now." He quickened his pace, forcing his twelve year old companion into a light jog.

Then he abruptly halted, settling on a bench inside a wall alcove, and patting the place beside him with one hand.

Obi-Wan perched upon the edge of the seat, right boot heel still bouncing nervously against the marble floor.

"Padawan."

The tapping foot stilled itself. Slim fingers curled into wide sleeve hems, and the boy waited. And waited. And waited. And –

"Master? I thought we were going to pick up new equipment?"

"Now we are resting."

"But ...why?"

The Jedi master pressed his back against the cool curve of wall behind him, exhaling slowly. "Because I said so," he answered, enunciating the words with measured placidity.

Obi-Wan released a long breath, and scooted back against the wall beside him. The bench was wide, and he tucked his feet up under himself lest they dangle off the floor. They really were getting better, after these first two months. But that was no excuse to slacken discipline. Qui-Gon allowed twenty minutes to pass before he relented.

"Let's go. You'll be late for your afternoon class if we don't hurry."

This provoked an exasperated sigh. "What about noon-meal?"

"Keep your focus on the present moment, Obi-Wan."

The boy kept his cool remarkably well. That was a good sign too. Qui-Gon spared a small smile for his bewildered apprentice, and found the most direct route to the storerooms, where they could requisition some extra supplies for their first official mission off-world as Master and Padawan.

Master Pakkra was pleasant enough when they submitted their lengthy list of requirements, producing the various items from their labeled lockers and allowing Obi-Wan to sign for his own field equipment, a quotidian record-keeping formality that nevertheless brought the new Padawan manifest pleasure. He affixed his thumbprint to the datapad with great and solemn satisfaction.

"Anything else, Master Jinn?"

"Just a standard shipboard emergency kit, if you have one ready."

The tall Quermian Jedi's head wavered atop his sinuous neck. "I'll gather one together for you in a trice, if you will wait."

"Yes, thank you."

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was busily examining each of his new acquisitions before stowing it away in a belt pouch. "What's this, master?"

Qui-Gon glanced down at the unfamiliar object. "Ah. That is a rebreather. Oxygenator, for water or compromised atmosphere."

His apprentice's brows rose. "Are you expecting the X'Naaro to make us walk the plank or lock us in a toxic gas chamber?"

"No." the Jedi master demonstrated how the device opened, and then folded it back down to its compact configuration. "I do not expect any such thing."

Obi-Wan nodded, eyes twinkling. "So it will be an ambush, then."

The tall man indulged in a soft chuckle. "It is wise to be prepared for anything, but unwise to _expect_ it," he answered.

The boy nodded, a plausible suggestion of agreement and understanding that flatly contradicted the amused dubiety leaking across his young and permeable mental shields. Qui-Gon smiled again. There was so much to learn. He watched as the new cable launcher, a small holoplate, an extra power comlink cell, a few emergency medical supplies, and the usual complement of protein and nutrition capsules were duly tucked away in their places. "If we do have to walk the plank, I will surely sink," Obi-Wan observed, with a small upward quirk of the mouth.

"It is not so _very_ much to carry," the older man mildly remonstrated.

Master Pakkra had not yet returned from the back room; Obi-Wan glanced round to be sure they were alone and then addressed his teacher with bland impertinence. "I thought _the Force is our ally; we need no other."_

"I did not say we needed these things per se… they simply come in useful from time to time."

Mouth twisting quizzically, the Padawan fingered a soft fold of black cloth. "What about this… not a _blindfold!"_

"Keep it on you – it may come in useful, too. And do not roll your eyes at me, young one."

"I'm sorry, master."

"I hope so, Obi-Wan… otherwise I will be obliged to _inspire_ you to exhibit better manners."

The threat was received with a joyful grin, one revealing a pair of deeply grooved dimples. Qui-Gon maintained his stern composure as long as possible before capitulating. His expression relaxed but he still held up a warning finger. "Particularly on X'naar. Comportment, even in the smallest matters, is essential to successful diplomacy."

"I will be mindful, master," the boy earnestly promised.

"I know."

The quartermaster returned with the promised case of emergency supplies, and sent them on their way. Qui-Gon chivvied his companion forward. "You face a difficult choice, Padawan: skip noon-meal or arrive late for Master Chopra's mathematics class."

Obi-Wan almost froze in his tracks, tragic realization flitting across his face before stoic resolve overlaid it. "I can wait till evening to eat," he asserted, bravely, with only the faintest suggestion of accusation undergirding his tone.

Qui-Gon nodded, keeping a steady pace, waiting…

"Our errands took longer than anticipated," his apprentice pointed out, on cue.

"Indeed." It _was_ his fault, of course, but a Jedi must be flexible- and above all, not hold a grudge. "When you are finished with the instructional session, meet me in the Archives. We need to review some matters concerning X'Naar before we leave."

"Yes, master." A heartbeat's hesitation, in which Qui-Gon refused to soften the dilemma or its implications. He noted with a pang of unbecoming pride that the question _why _did not resurface into this discussion. Obi-Wan was a quick study.

"Off you go."

He watched the boy trot away down an adjacent corridor, heading for the nearest swift tube. The new cloak's hem skimmed the floor, just a fingerswidth too long for the wearer. But Padawans, like many other young and impatient things, matured rapidly - and it was best to leave plenty of room for growth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The door slid open to admit a damp and winded but distinctly triumphant Padawan.

Qui-Gon raised his brows, admitting to himself that he was impressed by the boy's sheer stamina. A droplet of perspiration slid down Obi-Wan's braid-tuft and plopped to the floor at his feet. "Back so soon?"

The imp's mouth twitched, despite his best efforts at containing his impertinent streak within acceptable bounds. "We _have_ been in training every day. I'm practically a marathon runner now, master, trying to keep up with your pace."

Whereas Qui-Gon felt that he had been the one struggling to keep up with the _pace_ of his garrulous and over-eager twelve year old Padawan. Focus, as he so often reminded his student, determined reality. "You'll grow into me in due time, I am confident."

"_That_ might require a good deal of provender." The boy wandered into the miniscule kitchen nook and returned with a muja in each hand.

"One," the Jedi master admonished, levitating the extra fruit into his own hand and pointing to the door. "And I think you could stand another circuit."

"But-!"

"Ah." A raised finger quelled the incipient argument. "Seditious declamations will only earn you extra laps." He waved the young Jedi back out the door, and slid the panel closed behind him.

The pedestrian path running around the perimeter of the Temple's mighty foundation and outside gardens was already worn smooth by the feet of countless generations. By the time Obi-Wan was grown, it would have been polished to a sea-stone's smoothness, much as Qui-Gon hoped the boy's sharp tongue and youthful impatience would be. Raising and training an apprentice was long, grueling work, a masterpiece of evolving art requiring mutual dedication.

…And a good deal of provender. The muja was particularly sweet, and he savored its juicy flesh, mentally cataloguing the preparations for their journey. He passed into the smaller bedroom, noting the painstaking and spartan tidiness of the room – except of course the boy's cloak, which had been carelessly tossed upon the floor, as though in purposeful spite, a whimsical defiance of the rule laid down by its owner's otherwise orderly temperament. He folded the discarded garment, and added it to the satchel upon the sleep mat, checking that datapad and requisite course holo-texts had also been included in the small pile.

There were in fact seventeen separate slim holo-volumes tucked into Obi-Wan's travel-bag. Qui-Gon sorted through them, replacing all but one of the dozen extra-curricular books upon the immaculate desk. The second volume of _History of the Teth Dynasties _ could wait for their return, as could the other dry and abstruse works selected by his young friend as pleasure reading. The boy had a _very_ optimistic and naïve perception of how much down time they would enjoy when on a mission.

Of course, this surfeit of reading material might be an intentional distraction, a provision against bad nerves. Obi-Wan's first and only other interstellar journey away from the Temple, on a freighter bound for Bandomeer, had not gone well – to say the least. Who knew what reaction the mere at of _flying_ might provoke, no matter how many hours of meditation lay between them and those unfortunate events?

After two months, they were getting markedly better, especially at _obedience-_ but this would be their first test of those new and hard-won skills.

* * *

Obi-Wan reappeared a half-hour later, practically dragging himself over the threshold of their shared quarters, and looking suitably exhausted – tired enough, it was to be hoped, to face the prospect of space travel without complaint.

"Wash up," Qui-Gon instructed. "We depart at eighth hour."

A quick glance at the chrono sent his bedraggled and panting apprentice scurrying into the 'fresher. The Jedi master powered down the lights and air 'cycler and sealed the balcony doors. He provided the exotic fern tucked in one corner with a nutrient stick, a cup of fresh water, and a vivifying nudge of the Force. The assignment promised to be a short one – hopefully the delicate organism would survive its temporary abandonment without mishap. Then he made sure the conservator was emptied of any readily perishable goods – hardly a concern, given the voracious appetite of his recently acquired ward. There was only a half-container of blue milk left over. He poured it in a cup and set it on the heating unit.

"I'm ready," Obi-Wan announced, materializing in the doorway. "And I'm famished."

"Here." Qui-Gon handed over the warm milk.

"Master. I am not a crecheling."

"Your other option is starvation," the tall man blithely informed him. "You are of course free to choose this path if your honor is compromised by the alternative."

The indignant snort that followed this remark was swiftly followed by the sounds of greedy swallowing. Qui-Gon smiled and gathered his travel bag, waiting by the door until his hastily groomed Padawan joined him. He leaned down to straighten the boy's cloak hood, which hung sloppily over one shoulder.

"'Saber?"

Obi-Wan's expression was one of injured dignity. "Of _course,_ master." He proudly displayed the weapon hanging at his side. Though a standard full-power training model, it would serve its purely defensive purpose in a pinch – and its symbolism was lost on neither of them.

"Good. Shall we?"

An enthusiastic nod. "Yes, master."

* * *

The vehicle pool droid had allotted them a swift Republic diplomatic shuttle, the newest in the available fleet as a mark of respect to Qui-Gon's rank. They boarded inside the Temple's west hangar bay, waiting as the automatic launch pad slowly levered them out into the dusking skies.

"How long will the hyperspace jump take?" Obi-Wan inquired, settling unenthusiastically in the co-pilot's seat.

Qui-Gon spared him a sidelong glance. A fatal mistake, one he would quickly learn not to make. "Why don't you calculate it, since you asked?" he suggested.

The boy was not stupid; he knew full well the answer was somewhere in the mission briefing. "But why-"

"Because I said so." Qui-Gon lifted the ship off the docking pad and into Coruscant's purple canopy, skimming upward toward a veil of scudding clouds.

The Padawan sighed and dutifully turned to the navcomp. His calculations occupied him nicely all the way through atmosphere and into clear space. By the time he had checked and rechecked the sequence, they had received a go-ahead signal from Intersystem Traffic Control.

"Twelve and a half standard hours," Obi-Wan muttered, eyes wide as he gazed out the viewport at the clear panoply of stars and the glimmering orb of Vandor in the far distance. "Oh."

The Jedi master smiled ruefully. "Your first trip didn't leave much opportunity for appreciating the beauty of the cosmos, did it?"

A shake of the boy's head. "No." he stared, mesmerized. The Force rippled gently as his wonder reached out into the vacuum, a young mind hesitantly unfurling into the boundless void and then recoiling a bit at its sheer hollowness.

"Distance and size do not truly matter. In time, you will not feel this as _empty,_" Qui Gon assured him. "Though I am certain it is a strange sensation now."

His apprentice's face was solemn. A pair of hands gripped at the edges of the padded seat. "I…. Master, I don't really like flying."

"You've not done enough of it to know that," Qui-Gon gently reprimanded him. "Do not allow emotion to color your perceptions. Here. I'm reverting control to your side of the console, You're going to initiate the jump."

It was enough of a challenge to distract the young Jedi from further introspection. Obi-Wan handled the task well, having practiced on simulators in the Temple many times as an initiate. Soon enough empty space had melted into formless netherworld, sworls of shapeless color sliding over the viewport in endless transmutations.

"Ugh," the boy remarked, shifting queasily in his seat. "I still don't like it."

Qui-Gon switched the ship's guidance to automatic; their planned route traversed a standard hyperlane and should prove uneventful. "Hyperspace can be disorienting. Anchor yourself in the here and now – you'll grow accustomed to it."

Obi-Wan stood, woozy with the sudden warping of reality's cloth – a disturbance felt more acutely in the Force than with the senses - and followed his teacher to the rear passenger compartment, which happily boasted two full-sized bunks and a cramped storage locker.

"We'll sleep during transit," Qui-Gon decided. "We are scheduled to arrive in the capitol on X'Naar at dawn local time, and our schedule will be very full."

Obi-Wan sat reluctantly on the edge of his bunk, loosening his boot straps. He did not make eye contact.

The tall man stretched out on the opposite mattress, by way of example, and waved the lights to a dim emergency setting. He smiled when he heard the tell-tale creak and rustle across the narrow aisle. Beneath them, around them, the hyperdrive sang a deep, subliminal tone. The hull vibrated slightly, like a living thing. They carved their way through an ocean of disrupted light and immeasurable space, cocooned in a thin metal shell and the infinite Force.

The textured silence was broken by a vexed if nearly inaudible grumbling. The Padawan turned over, tension bleeding through the small cabin.

"Go to sleep."

"I'm sorry, master. I'm trying."

"There is no try. Why don't you use a visualization exercise?"

A wry snort. "I did, master, but _floating upon the currents_ turned into being swallowed by a whaladon and plummeting into the oceanic abyss."

Qui-Gon folded his hands across his chest. "Why do you think that happened?"

A faint tapping, as of fingers being drummed pensively against a bulkhead. "It's … I'm going to dream about Telos again," Obi-Wan said, ruefully. A note of defeat sounded in his voice. "Can't I stay awake?" A hopeful pause. "I'll meditate instead."

"No."

Another space of minutes, in which the restless sounds from the Padawan's side of the tiny space did not abate.

"Obi-Wan."

"It's cold," the Padawan complained, though the heat regulator was on a generously high setting, as an allowance for his inexperience with space travel.

The Jedi master released a long breath. "You are centering on your anxieties. Relax."

"I'll do better," the boy peeped, apologetically.

Another stretch of time passed, in which Qui-Gon faded halfway into a pleasant dream, and his apprentice made every effort to feign quiet relaxation, breath rising and falling in a rigidly controlled pattern. Perturbation leaked steadily across their bond, spangling the darkness with invisible sparks of unease and vague longing. Predominant among the scattered images: a clan dormitory and the serene security of so many small bodies curled close together on a neat row of sleep mats, sheltered beneath a low roof within the Temple's massive edifice, where the Force flowed strong and pure - unwarped and undiluted by the weird contortions of hyperspace and the endless void.

At last the tall man rolled over and addressed the problem directly. "Come here," he sighed.

A moment's uncertain hesitation.

"Padawan, you are trying my patience."

That had the desired effect; bare feet slapped softly on the deck, and then a tangle of gangly limbs and a thermal blanket crawled onto Qui-Gon's palette. "I'm not a crecheling."

"I did not say you were. Now go to sleep." He infused the command with more than a modicum of Force-enhanced suasion; this, and the undeniable increase of warmth between them, had an instantly soothing effect.

"Ye -sma-ster," the young Jedi yawned.

Qui-Gon threw one arm over his companion and allowed himself to drift off, chuckling a little at the faint, contented snores emanating from the bundle beside him. There was much, much progress to be made… but it was a good enough beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

X'Naar's blinding white sun glinted off the flooded marshlands surrounding Toora Na, the largest city on the main continent. The spires of the Capitol Tower rose like stalagmites amid a gleaming pool, while a riotous shanty-town of workers' huts and shops clustered on spindly stilts about its base, the shabby skirts and train of an impoverished matriarch. Off shore, rising like a second sun, a black dome emerged halfway from the placid sea.

"What is that, master? A mining platform?"

Qui-Gon guided the shuttle onto the designated landing pad at the Tower's summit. "That would be the Techno Union's mobile extraction unit."

Obi-Wan peered curiously at the dark bubble, its polished metallic sides and barnacle crusted girth. "So it can be unmoored and launched into orbit."

"Yes… when the storage holds are full. Remember what the briefing materials said: the process can take a standard year or more to complete."

The Padawan breathed an audible sigh of relief when they set down on repulsors and powered systems to stand-by. "It's not what I imagined," he said. "It doesn't look like a ship… It looks as though one of the moons has fallen, like in the old rhyme."

A trick of the atmosphere did make X'Naar's clustered satellites appear to be so many smoky baubles floating in the dawn sky. From this vantage point, the half-submerged Techno Union ship created the illusion that one of the celestial spheres had tumbled from its bed, as in the traditional nursery rhyme. An apt image, but…

"I thought you were not a crecheling," the Jedi master smirked.

"A good rhetorician suits his figures of speech to his audience," his young protégé instantly quipped back – and then stopped, blushing violently as he remembered just who his present audience was.

Qui-Gon raised an amused brow. The boy's tongue was more than capable of outstripping his prudence. If his saber skills could be brought up to the same speed, he would rival even his master as a swordsman. In the meantime, however – "How many push-ups would you say that piece of insolence merits?"

Face still colored by shame, Obi-Wan nonetheless rose to the challenge with a humorous defensive parry. "Half as many as you intend to require in payment?" he offered, hinting at his teacher's established habit of doubling any suggested penalty.

"Very clever," the tall man admitted. "You are learning." He glanced out the viewport at the welcoming party rapidly approaching across the hangar deck. "We will settle your outstanding debt later, by which time I will have capitalized a great deal of interest on the balance."

The Padawan's mouth twisted. "Yes, master."

They stood. "And remember, Obi-Wan: be mindful. The X'Naaro are keen on protocol."

"Yes, master. I'm ready."

They steeled their combined nerve and descended the ramp to meet the expectant premier and his retinue.

* * *

"I am glad to have this opportunity to speak with you in private, Master Jedi. Before the Techno Union's minions arrive to spew their bureaucratic filth," the X'Naar premier rumbled, his long ceremonial robes dragging behind him as he lumbered down the broad interior corridor.

"I can assure you that I will maintain an open and objective attitude to both sides of this dispute, Minister Pey," Qui-Gon Jinn assured him, catching his apprentice's eye to be sure the boy was attending. An ambassador could not adopt a partisan viewpoint, even tacitly.

Luu Pey harrumphed and led the way into a sumptuously appointed conference chamber. "Please, refresh yourselves. The other delegates are due within the quarter hour… consider the staff here at your disposal, Ambassador."

"We come to serve," the Jedi master replied, making a formal bow. Beside him, his Padawan dutifully imitated the courteous gesture.

The premier bestowed an indulgent smile upon the boy. "You are very young to assist in the resolution of such a complex affair," he observed, mildly enough. "Tell me, what do you hope to accomplish here on X'Naar?"

Obi-Wan cast an alarmed glance upward at his mentor, who merely inclined his head, granting permission to speak. The Padawan turned respectfully to the X'Naaro leader, hands folded properly into opposite sleeves. "I am here to learn from my master's example and instruction," he answered levelly. "And from the lifeways and customs of your people."

The reply was pleasing to its intended audience. The premier and his aides murmured in approval. "Well said. I hope you do indeed learn much, Padawan. Watch the Techno Union litigator carefully – he will tutor you in the ways of avarice and fraud, most surely."

Qui-Gon laid an encouraging hand on his apprentice's shoulder.

"I am confident I will leave here wiser than I came," the young Jedi smoothly replied. A flittering gust of boldness swept through the Force, laced with mischief. "I hope Master Jinn will be able to _inspire_ both parties to find a peaceful solution."

Luu Pey made the traditional X'Naaro gesture of honor, laying one hand over his upper heart; Qui-Gon's fingers applied a slight restraining pressure; Obi-Wan favored him with an affected look of innocence, wickedly glinting eyes marring his otherwise demure expression.

Content with this first ambassadorial exchange, the premier and his staff wandered away to the laden brunch buffet tables. Obi-Wan watched them go, the Force warming with faint envy, though he maintained his deferent position by Qui-Gon's side.

The tall man shifted his weight, hooking both thumbs through his belt. "Very amusing, Padawan. You have performed exceedingly well in your first negotiation - and augmented your deserved penalty for impertinence at the same time. Astonishing."

The boy's brows beetled together for a moment, but he swiftly corrected the unbecoming display of personal emotion, smoothing his expression until it conveyed only the calm and impartial attitude openly advocated by his mentor.

"Better," Qui-Gon murmured. He nodded to the extensive feast upon the nearby serving tables. "You had better eat hearty – you'll require proper nourishment to endure the rigors of justice later."

It was doubtful whether the young Jedi even heard the second half of this pronouncement; a joyfully bouncing stride carried him directly to the enticing smorgasbord, where he wasted no time in heaping a plate with generous portions of everything humanly palatable. Qui-Gon shrugged. There was no harm- and something to be recommended – in allowing some obscure principality within the Republic to shoulder a part of the burden, where feeding a growing Padawan was concerned. He was a firm believer in the idea that the Force _would _ provide a solution… and occasionally even a free lunch.

* * *

"The contract states terms quite clearly," the Techno Union law consultant sneered, fiercely tapping his datareader's screen with one blunt finger. The shimmering holoprojection of the controversial documents wavered in mid-air. "The conditions under which the Techno Union is entitled to retrieve cost of investment through capital seizures are stipulated in language so simple and straightforward even a child could understand the arrangement."

The X'Naaro premier surged to his feet, jowls quivering. "If that is so, then let's have a _child_ interpret it for us, hm? The Republic has obligingly sent one along!" He thrust a jeweled hand at the Jedi Padawan sitting quietly by his master's side.

Qui-Gon Jinn stood, his mere presence sufficient to quiet both belligerent disputants. "My apprentice has had the privilege of an exceptional education; his insight would not prove the point either of you wish to debate. And I will remind you once again that we are here to clarify the terms of this agreement, whether or not it is felicitously phrased."

The premier and the Trade Union spokesman glowered at each other across the negotiating table, while their secretaries and aides entered data into recorders or shifted anxiously in their seats. Hostility remained palpable in the room; the outraged opponents were not mollified by the Jedi master's reasonable words.

The litigator sniffed."I am not afraid to put this document to such a test," he spat at Luu Pey. "Let the boy look at it and give us fair judgment on its clarity and fairness.

Qui-Gon frowned deeply. "I do not recommend this course of action."

"Why?" The X'Naaro premier growled. "Is your Padawan not as objective as you yourself? Let us have a _child_ look at this spurious contract and speak for all fair-minded people. Come, Master Jinn, we asked for Jedi intervention. Let us have it."

The tall man studied his young student carefully, then sighed. "If you obstinately insist, you may submit it to his critique. I will not intefere."

This satisfied the eager assembly. Luu Pey sat, waving a hand at the Padawan. "Tell us what you think. Read the contract thoroughly – you will soon see what a spurious piece of trickery it is."

"How simple and direct it is," the lawyer corrected him, flopping back in his own chair.

Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon in dismay, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

_Relax, _the tall Jedi sent across their bond. "Your honest input, Padawan. Do not treat the matter hastily. I am sure the honorable delegates here are willing to wait for your considered opinion."

The room was silent, expectant. The young Jedi inhaled deeply. "I will strive to honor your trust," he said, after a deliberate pause. "But I require time to peruse the documents thoroughly. I suggest we adjourn this meeting until tomorrow morning."

To the astonishment of both Republic ambassadors, the two sides of the dispute readily agreed to this arrangement. They filed out of opposite exits, chattering animatedly and leaving the Jedi alone with the wilted scraps and remains of the brunch buffet, and a double headache.

"Let us see what sort of guest accommodations they have provided," Qui-Gon decided, shepherding his Padawan out the doors in the others' boisterous wake. "We have much work to do this evening."

* * *

"You knew that was going to happen, master."

Qui-Gon denied the accusation lightly. "I did not."

His apprentice prodded curiously at his mental shields, but made no headway. The tall man lengthened his stride, following the directions given them by a courteous droid on the governor's staff.

"Does that happen…. often?" Obi-Wan wondered. "it seems like a very foolish way to settle an argument."

"Oh, I doubt they anticipate any real solution issuing from the event. It is what is called _stirring the pot._ Each one of them hopes to humiliate the other, or to expose some further absurdity. You, my young friend, are being used as a tool."

The Padawan was not pleased by this revelation. "Oh." His brow furrowed, and his cheeks attained a pink tinge, but he quickly released his wounded feelings into the Force. "Well, at least you will have more time to meditate on their dilemma," he replied, brushing aside the insulting situation and focusing on a positive outcome instead.

Qui-Gon felt another surge of pride. "Me?" he repeated. "But it is _you_ who will be solving this particular conundrum. They have asked for your help, and you promised to give it."

His young charge stopped dead in his tracks. "But –"

"Obi-Wan."

They kept walking.

"I think that is a very bad idea, master," the young Jedi told him, flatly. "I should not be the one to decide."

"You are training to be a diplomat and a peacekeeper, are you not?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"And I am the person directly supervising that laudable undertaking, am I not?"

A worried sigh. "Yes, master."

"Well, then, consider it a direct order. _You_ will be giving due and careful consideration to this matter and preparing a fitting answer for the negotiations tomorrow."

Obi-Wan scowled at the corridor ahead. "Wonderful," he griped.

"After we settle the small matter of _impertinence,"_ Qui-Gon added. "We must keep our priorities straight." They stopped before the door to a lavish guest suite. He waved open the heavy portal and leaned down to nudge his apprentice's chin with thumb and forefinger of one hand. "I have great confidence in your abilities."


	4. Chapter 4

**Because I Said So**

* * *

_Author's note: I stole T'k'ta from Valairy Scot without permission. Don't worry - we'll settle it with our fists when the creche-master isn't looking._

**Chapter 4**

"How much longer, master?"

"Until you fall down," Qui-Gon Jinn replied, crossing his legs and returning his attention to the datareader propped against his knee. His peripheral vision caught a flicker of motion as his apprentice wobbled and then hastily regained his balance.

"But you said I would have to _repeat _ if my feet touched the floor!"

"Did I?" The Jedi master scrolled to the next section of the records, skimming over the dreary recounting of X'Naar's Techno Union involvement and Mining Guild woes.

"Yes, master," came the truculent reply – a bit pinched and breathless, since the speaker was upside down and visibly trembling. "You did."

Qui-Gon did not look up from his briefing materials. "Well then, Padawan, you face a paradox. May the Force be with you."

A strangled exclamation of outrage was the predictable reply to this statement. Qui-Gon rose and fetched a glass of sparkling juice from the guest suite's well-stocked conservator. It tasted of citrine and muja.

"I'm thirsty," Obi-Wan declared, struggling to maintain the one-armed handstand.

His mentor set a full glass down before him. "Help yourself. Of course if your feet touch the floor, you _will_ have to repeat." He slouched back in the overstuffed chair and propped his own boots on the fibroglass tabletop, returning his attention to the quarrel between their hosts and their off-planet engineering partners. The problem was knotty; the Techno Union had committed a staggering sum of money and resources to the retrieval of minerals buried in the planet's crust beneath its extensive oceans, contracting for a substantial share of profits – but the operation had panned out to almost nothing. The mining interest wished to recover their costs, while the planetary government accused them of a perpetrating fraud and doing environmental damage in the process. The original geological survey had been prepared by an independently contracted scientific research corporation…he sighed. To oversee such petty economic squabbles was not the stuff of boyhood fantasy, the highest aspiration of a Jedi Knight. On the other hand, perhaps that was a salutary and important lesson to teach –

His line of thought was abruptly ended by a sudden contraction in the Force's smooth currents. He looked up just in time to see his Padawan launch himself into the air – he sprang upward off his hands, tucked neatly into a ball, and landed with a reverberating clap of noise upon the transparent tabletop. The boy cocked a smug eyebrow at his teacher and then held out an open hand, causing the full glass to float serenely into his grip. A few drops sloshed over the brim, but his control was overall impressive.

"Padawan."

The coveted refreshment went down in one long go. When he had drained the cup, Obi-Wan dipped his head, an innocuous expression spreading over flushed features as he settled himself cross-legged upon the table. "Yes, master?"

"You will have to repeat the exercise."

"My feet did not touch the floor," the amateur gymnast pointed out, blandly.

"I said –"

"You said _if my feet touch the floor,"_ Obi-Wan repeated.

"Do not interrupt me, Padawan." A stern warning, which made the insolent rascal lower his eyes. Qui-Gon drummed the fingers of one hand against his saber hilt, chagrined at being so easily caught out. He should not have allowed his attention to be divided between his apprentice and the mission details.

"I'm sorry, master." Contrition wafted across their bond…. then quickly melted into further mischief. The boy's eyes danced with a combative light only made worse by the hour he had spent in penance for his prior misdemeanors.

The tall man narrowed his eyes "What am I going to do with you?" he inquired, rhetorically. "Punishment only fans the fires of your rebellion."

Obi-Wan's unshuttered smile seemed to illumine the far walls and ceiling. "Well then, master, you face a paradox. May the Force be with you."

"Brat."

There was a startled heartbeat's pause in which the Padawan perhaps thought – for an instant – that this descriptor had been uttered in absolute earnest; and then another in which he thought he had charmed his way out of trouble entirely. On the third thudding heartbeat, he was disabused of both false notions, for he found himself seized in a vise like grip and hoisted bodily off the table, as easily as he had been a sack of tubers.

Qui-Gon chuckled in his ear as he vainly struggled. "There are other means of curbing your sharp wit, my friend." The tussle increased in intensity, but Qui-Gon very much had the advantage of strength and size, not to mention some advanced wrestling knowledge. His Padawan did not stand a chance. "Abase yourself and I may be lenient."

But naturally the youngling chose honor over self-preservation, fighting like a cornered Wookiee.

"Your fate is sealed,' the Jedi master growled, pinning his captive against the plush chair. "If you cannot control your tongue, I will render you too breathless to employ it."

Eight and a half minutes of sustained and merciless tickling later, he had achieved his goal. "Master!" his student gasped, wheezing like an asthmatic.

"That's _right_," Qui-Gon replied, tugging on the stunted learner's braid to accentuate the message. "Now go get cleaned up. You still have to tackle the X'Naaro contract with the Techno Union, and the night is not young."

Still panting, and clutching at a stitch in his side, the Padawan half –bowed and half winced and made his stumbling way to the 'fresher. Qui-Gon straightened the furniture, answered the door chime and assured the wide-eyed service droid upon the threshold that the commotion had merely been part of an esoteric Jedi meditation ritual, nothing to be concerned about, move along, move along – and then scrounged up a ceramplast pot and some passable tea leaves, and set the brew to steeping. It would be a long night, but they were now ready to concentrate.

* * *

Obi-Wan poured a fourth cup of tea into his empty cup, only to have the warm bowl confiscated before he could lift it.

"You've had enough for one evening," Qui-Gon warned. "I don't want you wired like a stolen aircar during the morning session."

His apprentice raised bleary eyes and made a face, allowing the datapad in his hands to drop unceremoniously into his lap. "Which side do you think is in the right, master?"

The tall man smiled, leaning back in his chair and sipping at the last of the tea. "What makes you think _one_ of them must necessarily be at fault, and the other innocent?"

Obi-Wan's eyes slid sideways cynically. "It would make things easier," he grumbled.

"And that is why peacekeeping is not easy task. What conclusions have you reached thus far?"

The boy stifled a huge yawn and shrugged out of his rumpled outer tunic, dropping the cream cloth upon a small pile of other discarded garments: boots, stockings, belt, tabards, cloak. He flopped backward and stretched out upon the luxurious double couch, one bare foot propped on the armrest, the other dangling to the carpeted floor. "That everybody here is a chosski," he muttered, idly levitating the datapad above his head, spinning it this way and that in mid-air.

Qui-Gon reached across and confiscated that, too. "Focus," he warned. "Flippancy is seldom an effective diplomatic strategy."

The Padawan rubbed knuckles against his eyes. "It's like a dispute in the crèche, over some petty grievance… like when Garen and I were fighting over T'k'ta and then he got his ear ripped off."

"Garen?"

A short laugh. "No, master, T'k'ta lost his ear."

"The clan dormitories are more perilous than I remember them," Qui-Gon observed, faintly alarmed.

His Padawan's grin broadened. "T'k'ta is made of cloth, master. You needn't fuss over him. Master Ali sewed him up again and Garen and I got in quite a lot of trouble for _shameful incivility."_

"I see." The Jedi master set the empty tea cup upon the cluttered table. "And who did Master Alaan punish as the instigator?"

A small line appeared between Obi-Wan's brows. "Both of us," he admitted. "I think he kept us after supper and told us we could not play at all again until the culprit confessed. So of course we both instantly admitted to guilt and got back to business fairly quickly. We were both at fault, and he made us see that. And we took much better care of T'k'ta after that. It was a good solution. For crechelings, I mean."

Qui-Gon raised his brows. "You might be surprised how universally some lessons can be applied. I think you've found your solution."

Intrigued, his apprentice rolled back into a sitting position. "What? Accuse them both of villainy and see what transpires? Isn't that just like _stirring the pot?_"

"They made the first strike; you are entitled to parry or block as you see fit."

A glimmer of delight in the Force. "Inspire them."

The Jedi master lifted his shoulders. "It is worth a try, don't you think?"

A beat. But the boy could not resist. "There is no try, master."

"Alas, Obi-Wan, that merits another fifty push ups. And then I think we should take a small recess. We're due back at the conference hall in just under two hours."

The young Jedi dropped wearily to the rug and began making compensation for disrespect, while Qui-Gon tidied up the sitting room, gathering the holoreaders and datapads into their case and throwing a pair of wide pillows upon the floor.

"Forty nine," his apprentice grunted, "And…ugh. Fifty."

"We will meditate together until it is time to go," Qui-Gon announced, his expression forbidding any protest.

Obi-Wan's eyes flitted longingly toward the unused bedrooms, but he dipped his head in acquiescence and joined his mentor on the cushions. "Yes, master."

Time slipped away into the Force's embrace, until morning light suffused the soft gloom and summoned them to a new day's beginning. Qui-Gon stirred first, and roused his student from a hazy state halfway between sleep and the Force, holding out a hand to lever him upright and smoothing down the mashed riot of chestnut spikes atop his head with the other, to little effect.

"It's a losing battle, master. I _could _ grow it longer… it might help make a better impression."

The Jedi master's eyes crinkled at the corners. " No. I think we'd better keep you cut down to size for a good long while, don't you?"

A disappointed twist of the mouth. "If you say so, master."

"I do." They were definitely learning. Slowly, but surely. "Let us see about some breakfast and then meet our new friends. They are doubtlessly waiting upon your decision with baited breath."


	5. Chapter 5

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Obi-Wan balked in the doorframe. "There are camera-bots _swarming_ all over the place, master."

"Ah. The media." Qui-Gon gazed up at the ceiling, where a dozen spheroid holo-drones floated, lenses angling to catch the Jedi as they made their grand entrance. The tall man applied a steady pressure to his apprentice's back, guiding him into the crowded room. "Take no notice."

The Padawan found his place at the table, a slight frown stamped on his features. "I thought the premier had wanted this meeting confidential."

They sat when the delegates sat. "He clearly changed his mind; politicians operate on expediency rather than principle. Be mindful of this when dealing with them."

"Yes, master." The boy watched the nearest cam-bot with a suspicious air, as though gauging the intentions of a feral beast circling about a campfire.

Luu Pey stood to greet the assembly, and to offer insincere hopes that the Techno Union lawyers' team had spent a pleasant night at his expense. "And now let us hear from our Jedi ambassadors. Padawan Kenobi has promised to illuminate us as to the _contents_ of the contract in question." He waved a magnanimous hand at the young Jedi, jowls quivering as he brought the company's attention to the slim brown-robed figure at the table's head.

Obi-Wan stood, hoping that his voice would not choose this moment to comically crack, and gathered his thoughts, honing his intended remarks to an eloquent edge. The Temple masters had often praised him for his precocious orator's skills, but his heart hammered nervously against his ribs nonetheless. An answering stream of encouragement warmed the bond he shared with Qui-Gon Jinn, though the Jedi master remained outwardly impassive.

"I have carefully perused both the contract and the correspondence exchanged between both sides of this debate," the young Jedi informed his expectant audience, clearing his throat.

"Tell us," the Techno Union litigator drawled, "Is it not as clear as a Tatooine day?"

The young Jedi nodded politely, warming to the task. Why was he so jumpy? This was _easy_. "I was able to comprehend the terms of your agreement," he answered, inserting a dramatic pause for best effect. "…With some assistance from a legal lexicon."

An amused murmur ran around the table.

"As a document, it is coherent and seems to conform with Galactic trade regulations." Another pause, in which he made sure he had their complete attention.

The Techno Union side of the room stirred and lifted supercilious brows at their counterparts, while the X'Naaro mutteringly imputed any number of mental defects to the speaker.

"That is to say, it elevates profit above every other consideration. The X'Naaro government has agreed to pillage its world's resources in an irresponsible and risky manner, while abdicating responsibility for these actions to the Techno Union – which in turn has agreed to play accomplice to this scheme for a price tantamount to blackmail."

Luu Pey slammed a broad hand upon the tabletop. "We did not ask for Jedi assistance because we wished to be insulted by a _child!"_

Undaunted, Obi-Wan leaned forward, eyes flashing."You asked for a _child's _ unbiased opinion of your arrangement. I have told you what any _youngling_ can see. Your treaty is full of dazzling words and confusing phrases, but beneath the finery all I see is a passel of conspiring thieves falling out among themselves because their heist has not gone according to plan. The Republic and the Jedi Order do not exist to mediate the power struggles of _brigands_."

Qui-Gon Jinn followed the entire outraged delegation to its feet. Shouts and banging fists played an indignant symphony for several minutes. The cam-bots zoomed in like greedy scavenger birds.

"You overdid it," the tall man whispered in his apprentice's ear, laying one hand on a shoulder stiff with tension.

"Is this the best a Jedi peacekeeper can do?" one fo the Techno Union dignitaries hollered. His words were followed by a bristling silence.

"You have not yet been willing to hear my more… seasoned perspective on the matter," Qui-Gon pointed out, pacifically. "You asked for a child's blunt honesty, and you received it."

Luu Pey cocked his head back, attempting to look down his nose at the Jedi master, who towered above him. "Well then, Master Jinn, let us hear what _you_ have to say, if your student is not a mere mouthpiece of your own opinion."

"If you are dissatisfied with Jedi intervention, Premier, I can recommend that this affair be referred to the Galactic Trade Committee for resolution. I am certain both your world and the Techno Union would welcome the chance to submit your sovereign rights to direct Republic oversight."

Obi-Wan watched hsi mentor wide-eyed. The X'Naaro were vociferous defenders of independent systems' rights; the Techno Union infamously resented any government interference at all. Qui-Gon sent his alarmed apprentice a warning glance. They would discuss the strong-arm tactic later.

The threat, and a fulminating look, had both sides of the dispute sinking back into their chairs like a gaggle of chastised schoolboys. Deflated, the Techno Union's head barrister simpered his objection. "There is no need or such extremist measures," he asserted. "I am sure the Jedi can find a mutually agreeable solution without resorting to an incompetent and tyrannical governing body."

"Good." Qui-Gon encompassed all of them with a sweeping and imperious glare. "Then let us begin." He turned to his young counterpart. "Obi-Wan. What do you recommend as the next step in deliberations?"

Off guard, the Padawan scrambled back to his feet, meeting the sullen glower of the two dozen officials without flinching. He inhaled deeply, subliminally reaching for the Force, or Qui-Gon, or both. The tall man spared him the tiniest of smiles and nodded his head.

Treading more cautiously than he had before, the boy spoke in a level voice. "X'Naar and the Techno Union were staunch allies at the outset of this operation, and ready to share profits had the mining venture succeeded. It seems it is not each other, but rather the frustration of the failed investment that is the key to your disagreement."

"Tell us something we don't know!" a disgruntled X'Naaro sub-secretary barked.

Obi-Wan's mouth tightened, but he did not rise to the bait. "I recommend an inspection of the mining facility. We ought to address the root of the problem."

A Techno Union engineer scoffed openly at this suggestion. "Are you now an expert on pressurized mineral extraction techniques, boy?"

Qui-Gon intervened before the exchange grew ugly. "The inspection should occur at your first possible convenience," he asserted, in an authoritative growl.

"There are various procedures and protocols which –"

"The Techno Union has nothing to conceal, I am confident, " the Jedi master overrode the blustering head engineer. "And the X'Naaro have no objection to an objective third party witness to their accusations." A burning look silenced both sides of the room.

Luu Pey grudgingly acquiesced. "Very well. I shall arrange transport for this afternoon. If the techno union has no _objections."_

The mining company's litigator sent him a corrosive look and waved a hand. "We will arrange a tour for the ambassadors. Perhaps they will _see_ what the X'Naaro are too blind to acknowledge."

The conference broke up, its disgruntled participants filing out the open doors in knots and murmuring clusters. When the meeting had dissolved into a vague echo of unrest in the Force, Obi-Wan sank down in his chair and looked up mournfully at his teacher.

"I'm sorry, master."

But the tall man did not seem disturbed by the outcome of the tumultuous session. "You expected better?" he inquired, mildly, taking the seat beside his dismayed Padawan.

The boy's eyes dropped to the table's burnished surface. "I don't know what I expected, master… I did my best… they were displeased."

"Did you anticipate solving the difficulty as easily as Ali Alaan settled the dispute between you and your friend Garen? This is a pitched battle between two obstreperous and not entirely honest powers. Even the most reasonable words – or bluntly stated truths – cannot sway people who are determined to have their own way at all costs."

Obi-Wan traced a tiny pattern on the grained surface, one finger following the convoluted lines in the veneer. "I'm sorry I overdid it, master."

Qui-Gon tipped his head to one side and folded his arms. "It is easier to moderate overenthusiasm than to kindle ferocity where it is lacking. I am not disappointed."

The boy frowned. "You knew I couldn't really do it."

"On the contrary. I knew you would come very close to managing it. Much depends on your point of view. Look at me."

His apprentice tore his eyes from the gleaming table and met Qui-Gon's gaze, _fear of failure_ resounding faintly across their bond.

"Having much still to learn is not equivalent to failure, young one. You must be more patient. And take from this lesson not a sense of shortcoming, but a sense of what can be accomplished in the future."

A miserable _yes, master_ met this injunction.

"And you will note that I supported your ideas."

Obi-Wan brightened. "Thank you," he replied, earnestly. Gratitude shone in the Force, a sense of infinite trust. "That helped."

"We have each other's backs, remember?" Qui-Gon stood, his Padawan following suit. "And who is to say? Perhaps this inspection of the mining facility will prove illumining."

"I was just stalling for time, master," the young Jedi admitted.

"So I assumed." A quiet chuckle. "But all the same – we will wait and see what there is to see. In the meantime, let us turn our attention elsewhere."

The boy eagerly jogged to keep up with him. "Since we have time, master, perhaps we could spar? There is a courtyard just below our rooms… I was looking at it this morning, and it is large enough and private. Perhaps you could –"

The older man held up a hand to forestall further elaboration. "When is the last time you looked at your assigned coursework – the studies assigned by the Temple masters?"

"Oh.. ah.. before the mission," his young companion answered quizzically.

"Well, then, I think that duty must take precedence over saber practice_._"

Obi-Wan's pace faltered. "My classes? Now? But why?"

Qui-Gon did not break stride or look over his shoulder. "Because I said so," he replied, leading the way back to their temporary quarters, bemused Padawan in tow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Obi-Wan promptly commandeered the sitting-room's table, spreading holobooks and datapad over the transparent surface with a grim and territorial precision. "Quadratic functions: common astronavigational applications," he announced in a disgusted tone, reading a section title aloud.

"Silence is golden," Qui-Gon remarked, pointedly.

"Yes, master." A chagrined sigh, and then a vexed if dutiful tapping of a stylus against the datapad's touch-plate as the Padawan turned his attention to his laborious mathematical undertaking.

The Jedi master wired his comlink into the Tower's satellite relay and initiated a transmission to Coruscant. There was a missing piece in the puzzle, and his instincts told him pursue his current vague hunch.

Tahl answered, tawny eyes tracing critically over his face before she answered the comm-summons. "Out of your depth already, Qui-Gon?"

Obi-Wan glanced up from his abstruse scholarly pursuits, eyes widening.

The tall man wagged an admonitory finger, directing the boy's attention back to its proper focus. "Your help would be appreciated," he informed Tahl.

"Which of you requires tutoring?" she archly inquired.

"I do," Obi-Wan offered, without looking up. "Factoring polynomials is for droids."

Qui-Gon's mouth twitched. "Master Uvain will not turn a sympathetic ear to your plight, Padawan."

"Indeed not," the Jedi master's shimmering blue image snorted. "It's good for you, young one. All boys your age should have a strong dose of algebra and a sound whipping every night before bed. Builds character. Don't you agree, Qui?'

"It would be impolitic to disclose my opinion on the matter in present company," he demurred. "I need you to ferret out the facts on a scientific research corporation here in the Zinthai sector."

"Why didn't you say so?" Tahl quipped.

"Because _silence is golden_," Obi-Wan shot back, sotto voce.

Qui-Gon sent his impudent student a sharp look, and the scoundrel returned to his book.

Tahl's amused chuckle silvered the Force with a bell-like chime. "He needs more character building, methinks. What corporation?"

"Orbit Industries. They specialize in geological surveys, and were contracted to provide a mineral analysis of X'Naaro's suboceanic crust three standard years ago."

"Oh ho. I shall see what I can dig up on them… no pun intended," Tahl smirked. "Good luck with your polynomials, Padawan. Be a good boy and solve all the problems and I shall make you spicy djo when you return."

Obi-Wan favored her with a melting smile. "Truly, master?"

"I am as good as my word. We'll speak again soon, Qui. May the Force be with you."

A mirrored bow, and their brief tête-à-tête ended.

The Jedi master paced to the wide balcony window and waved open the magnetic closure, availing himself of some fresh salt-laden air. Native shorebirds circled and dove in a graceful carillon as they hunted for fish beneath the foam-capped waves, things invisible from this lofty perspective.

It was wise to have a deeper look at the Techno Union mining facility, he decided. Perhaps answers, like the elusive X'Naaro silverfish, could be found beneath the sea's mutable surface, hidden under the shifting and frenetic currents of present debate. Obi-Wan's instincts were rough-hewn, lacking finesse – but undeniably sound.

He turned, pondering this fact, and discreetly watched the boy poring over his abhorred mathematics assignment. The now-familiar soft furrow of concentration or displeasure had appeared between the young Jedi's brows. He sat struggling over some complex problem, eyes glinting with a mettlesome light, mouth set in a stubborn line, one hand distractedly carding through short tufted hair until it stood in rigid disarray. A heavy sigh, a weighted pause – and then a tremor of victory in the Force as he swiftly applied stylus to datapad again.

"Take that," the Padawan triumphantly muttered, though it was unclear whether he addressed the text, his absent instructor, or the discipline of mathematics in general.

Qui-Gon raised his brows. "Congratulations. You've equaled the intellectual attainments of a droid."

His apprentice squinted pertly at him, and the Force swelled with two or three tart unvoiced repartees, but Obi-Wan managed to hold his tongue this time.

Better and better. "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

His young companion yawned hugely, his straight-backed posture slumping forward a trifle. He propped his chin on one hand. "We didn't sleep at _all_ last night, master."

"I am aware of this, Padawan."

The boy regarded him hopefully, inchoate images of food and a soft bed drifting across their bond.

But that was no way to acclimate to the inevitable rigors of Jedi life. Qui-Gon offered a gentle smile of empathy. "Sometimes our own needs must be deferred until the mission is complete – or even longer."

"... Yes, master."

He relented slightly. "But you are very young. If you are weary, Padawan, then perhaps you should –"

"I'm not tired," Obi-Wan lied, without hesitation.

A severely censorious gaze.

Wilting, the Padawan amended his hasty statement. "I mean I don't need to rest yet, master. I can keep going for a while."

"I am glad to hear it. You might have noticed that the courtyard beneath this very window is private and large enough to accommodate some well-mannered frivolity."

"Sparring!" the young Jedi exclaimed, leaping to his feet with an abruptly renewed vitality.

"Come along," the tall man chuckled. "Since you find the very idea so inspiring."

* * *

They faced off in the basic Niman opening stance.

"What about _Ataru?"_ Obi Wan inquired.

There were several delicate pieces of pottery on display at the courtyard's margins, and a string of glowlamps overhead. "A good fighter suits his style of combat to his surroundings. This is not the best arena for Ataru." Nor did he wish to wrassle with the irate X'Naaro over a smashed topiary or severed power line. Inadvertent property damage did little to commend one's diplomatic skill, after all.

"Yes, master." The boy's tone was rife with disappointment.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes. "Very well, if you crave further challenge, there are other means to provide it. Where's your blindfold?"

The Padawans' mouth twisted ruefully. "Here." He drew the small stretch of cloth form a belt pouch, preferring it to his mentor.

"Good." The tall man fixed the blindfold in place, securing the knot with a playful tug. "Let us see how honed your skills are without sight."

"But you can see!" his student protested. In standard Temple saber instruction, this exercise was commonly undertaken on equal footing, with all the participants equally handicapped, or at worst pitted against remotes.

"I have to see your flaws to point them out," Qui-Gon smiled.

"Will I be on attack?"

It was not Obi-Wan's day. "No. You will be on the defensive. Anticipate my moves; reach out with your feelings. If you think you have an opening, you may attempt an offensive strike."

A derisive snort from his apprentice. "I'm not stupid, master."

"I am glad to hear it. Now – let's begin. Three paces back - and _Niman_ form, if you please."

Their first bout was short lived; although the Padawan was well accustomed to fighting without the use of his vision, he was outmatched by Qui-Gon on every level.

"You were still relying overmuch on your outward senses," the Jedi master told him. "You should be able to _feel_ my intentions – I am not shielding." They had established a remarkably subtle and textured Force bond, almost without effort, and yet Obi-Wan floundered here, when the connection between them should have worked to his advantage.

The boy shifted on the spot. "But you don't… it doesn't feel like a _contest,"_ he explained, haltingly. "You're holding back, so I can't really tell what you are doing. And I know you won't hurt me. There's no sense of danger."

Oh, so that was the difficulty, was it? "Let us try again," Qui-Gon suggested, steeling himself. He double checked his blade's power setting and then gave the signal to begin.

They did better this time, Obi-Wan evading and dodging a great many of his teacher's attacks, flowing like river water around obstructing stones, the Force dancing and sparkling upon the currents. The sabers hummed and growled, seldom clashing. Qui-Gon kept his mental shields down, broadcasting his aggressive intentions steadily and clearly. The mock combat carried them in a wide circuit around the perimeter of the courtyard, Qui-Gon's green blade showering down a continuous stream of strikes while his apprentice parried and twisted and flowed backward, overconfident and unafraid, the Force placid as though he were performing a simple kata.

The Jedi master saw his opening, and took it before unbecoming sentiment could stay his hand.

"Agh!" Obi-Wan dropped his own weapon, the hilt clattering on the smooth tile as he clutched at his searing arm, teeth gritted and blue eyes staring up at his opponent in disbelief. He forced himself to stand upright, blinking hard.

The strike had been considerably harder than anything he would have taken in an initiate duel, and with a training saber. This would leave a burn that required bacta.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and banished all emotion. "There _is_ danger, Padawan," he stated. "Do not let yourself be blinded by… familiarity. This art," – he summoned the boy's fallen saber into his hand – "is martial in nature, and deadly serious in its intent. My duty is to prepare you for _real_ combat."

The boy swallowed and nodded, not speaking. Qui-Gon gently shepherded him onto the nearest bench and pulled up his tunic sleeve, unpacking his compact medkit.

Obi-Wan turned his face away when the ointment touched his injury. "I'm sorry, master," he gritted out.

"There is nothing for which to apologize." The tall man carefully tended the injury, binding the ghastly red burn with a medicated strip, and sending a soothing wave of healing energy through his apprentice's arm. He reached for the boy's dimpled chin and brought his face back round, ignoring the welling tears Obi-Wan so obviously wished to conceal.

"If you can fight through the pain, we will try again." He held his student's gaze intently. "Be mindful. You are a _Padawan_ now – and this is in earnest."

"I understand, master. I'm ready."

That might be true, but perhaps Qui-Gon did not think himself quite so prepared without a word of tacit explanation. "The Temple swordsmasters did not spare you in practice sessions," he felt compelled to point out. "Nor, I think, your agemates. You would not expect me to treat you with any less respect for your great potential."

His apprentice's brows quirked upward.

The Jedi master sighed. The circumstances of their partnership's formation had been so fraught with _trauma, _so extraordinarily demanding… had he coddled the boy? Or allowed an affection far in excess of that needful for the teaching work to form between them? And if so, was it too late? Certain truths – especially of combat - must be taught, whatever the cost. And who, in the end, was more unsettled by the bitter flavor of this particular lesson: master or apprentice?

He knew better, but the words escaped him anyway. "I, too, am sorry, young one."

One hiccup and a short and fumbling embrace later, they were upon their feet again, 'sabers thrumming in unison. Only this time, Qui-Gon could _feel_ his opponent's mind brush against his own, alert and wary, submerged within the Force. He slowly moved his blade, and felt the Padawan's stance slacken, his breath deepen, their antagonism now a kind of invisible yoke binding them, the dance of hunter and prey, of shadow and sunlight, of water and reflection.

Ten minutes later, he called an end to the exercise, without having landed a hit using the basic repertoire of Niman offensive strikes. "Much improved," he said, pulling off Obi-Wan's blindfold. "You perceive the difference."

His young counterpart grimaced. "Yes. And now I _am_ tired."

"Honesty is a fair ornament to virtue," Qui-Gon observed. "I think we have both earned a short rest."


	7. Chapter 7

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

A short rest turned into a prolonged nap, so far as the young Jedi was concerned. He lay prostrate upon one of the guest-suite's sumptuously outfitted beds, lost in blissful oblivion until a servitor droid arrived to inform the Jedi that the planned mining facility tour was scheduled in one half hour, and would they please meet the skiff at the lower docking port?

"Thank you. We will be there." Qui-Gon dismissed the thing with a courteous half-bow.

It took a less than gentle nudge of the Force against the Padawan's mental shields to rouse him from his long-delayed slumber.

"Rise and shine."

The command was met with a deferent murmur, one partially muted by the pillow. "Yesmaster."

But no actual movement accompanied this cooperative declaration.

Qui-Gon sank onto the edge of the yielding mattress. "Must I resort to aggressive negotiations?"

His protégé rolled over, curling into a defensive half-ball. "'M awake," he asserted, in plain contradiction to fact. It took a few moments for him to pull his sluggish consciousness from the morass of deep sleep , but in the end he managed to sit upright and blink confusedly at Qui-Gon.

The tall man reminded himself that this was not a poor performance for an exhausted adolescent. "We're off to see the Techno Union extraction unit."

Obi-Wan nodded blearily. "The moon?"

"Yes." A pause. "Breathe, Padawan. Reach for the Force." He extended his hands, bracing them palm to palm against the boy's much smaller ones. A Jedi must be able to spring from rest into full awareness at an instant's notice; a few guided Yamalsa technique deep inhalations allowed him to anchor his groggy student back in present reality, banishing the last clinging remnants of sleep.

They would have to practice this a few times, in the middle of the night, once they returned to the Temple. There was much, much to learn.

In the meanwhile, the prospect of seeing the "fallen moon" up close was sufficient incentive to get the boy moving. He hastily straightened his tunics and set about strapping on his boots. "Will we take the ship out there?"

"No; the X'Naaro have arranged a hydroskiff. If you are lucky, we may see a whaladon or two."

This happy notion had the boy all but bouncing upon his heels at the door, hurriedly pulling his cloak into place and mutely urging Qui-Gon to make similar haste.

The tall Jedi laughed quietly at the sight; he reminded himself that younglings in the Temple enjoyed a plethora of unusual privileges, but did not tend to be well-traveled, the necessity of protecting and nurturing their rare gifts keeping them for the most part bound to Coruscant. Not only the diverse panoply of galactic culture, but the astounding breadth and depth of the Living Force's manifestations, were things they would first encounter in the concrete realm as Padawans.

"Master Pertha never smuggled a _whaladon_ into the Temple," Obi-Wan observed, his excitement at possibly encountering one of the legendary beasts almost eclipsed by his delight at the thought of the Order's resident biological zealot attempting such an absurd feat.

"A pity," Qui-Gon remarked, turning his apprentice's cloak hood right-side out. "A small one might have been able to be concealed in the artificial river."

"Salt water, master," Obi-Wan reminded him. "And besides, Master Pertha has a predilection for carnivorous and aggressive species. It would be an absolute menace."

"True," Qui-Gon chuckled, leading the way out.

* * *

The hydoskiff kicked up a choking wave of stinging spray in its wake, but this did not stop the young Jedi from leaning over the railing on the bows, easily keeping his precarious balance as the fleet ship carved through X'Naar's choppy sea at breakneck speed.

"Shouldn't you …. " –Luu Pey waved a vague hand – "_restrain_ him, master Jedi?"

Qui-Gon folded hands into opposite sleeves and smiled. "He is merely enjoying his first real experience of an ocean. The galaxy is a large place, and there is much to learn."

The planetary premier shook his head. "I hope he can swim."

"Better than most," was the tall man's placid reply. The worst that might befall his Padawan out here was a thorough dunking; and even that might be considered a useful lesson in prudence. He raised his brows as the disgusted minister muttered something about the damp and withdrew, joining the other dignitaries who were enjoying more caff and sugar-laden snacks inside the warm passenger cabin. Ahead, steadily growing larger and more defined through the veils of low-lying fog, loomed the enormous black dome of the Techno Union mining ship. It seemed to rise above them, dominating the horizon like some vast and unnatural volcanic island, its perfect curving sides like a swelling bubble of tar, a warning of toxic sludge lurking far below.

A bright flare of unsullied joy illumined the Force, a tugging across his bond with Obi-Wan, much like a child's hand upon his sleeve. Smiling, he tore his thoughts away from the monstrous machine and back to the glittering waters.

"Master! Look!"

It was worth a hearty chuckle. Sleek marine mammals disported themselves beside the hydroskiff - sinuous dorsal fins like delicate feathery crests, three-forked tails, powerful grey-blue bodies cutting and leaping among the dark swells of water, easily keeping pace with the speeding vehicle. "Delphinox," he guessed.

A mottled male arced gracefully over the bows as they sped along, spattering them with salty rain as he twisted, corkscrewing elegantly back beneath the waves again.

"Ataru," Obi-Wan grinned. "They _are_ said to be highly intelligent."

The Jedi master stepped close to his young companion, reveling in the moment. "Some radicals have even petitioned to grant the species independent representation in the Senate."

"Truly, master?" Another pod of cocky delphinox spun and leapt in unison, turning their white bellies sunward before ploughing beneath the rippling green-blue mountains again.

"Yes. Truly. Though I would not wish such a terrible fate upon any living being."

His apprentice registered amusement at the cynical jest, a slight undercurrent of surprise bleeding across his mental shields.

Qui-Gon chided himself for scandalizing his impressionable young student, but then decided that he had merely spoken the truth. He laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. The beautiful creatures did seem to be showing off for them… and who knew? The ways of the Force were mysterious; perhaps this _was_ a performance for their benefit. Certainly the audience was entranced.

The skiff's captain sounded a chime, signaling that they were near their destination. The delphinox shied away as the black orb drew nigh.

Obi-Wan sighed.

"Not quite a whaladon," Qui-Gon remarked, as they moved back toward the cabin. "But perhaps just as good, hm?"

His Padawan smiled in contented agreement.

* * *

"…And so the input is correlated and uploaded to the processing center, where the individuated tectonic programming parameters can be calibrated for the next phasal sequencing maneuver, and then –"

_Padawan._

Qui-Gon spared a stern look at his apprentice, whose focus was – not to put too fine a point on the matter- egregiously _wandering_ during the head engineer's jargon laden discourse.

_I'm sorry master._

But beneath the automatic response there still lurked an undercurrent of distracting worry, a preoccupation with something elsewhere. The Jedi master reached curiously into the Force's universal currents, but sensed no danger, or anything amiss. He cocked an eyebrow at the boy, mouth thinning.

Obi-Wan fidgeted, squirming beneath his master's scrutiny, and made a good show of attending to the technical lecture.

"…while the drone proceeds to the coordinates for the pressurized tibanna insertion and delivers the timed explosive device. The titration index gives continuous feedback to the stratification indicator, enabling the automatic system to…"

_Obi-Wan!_

There was no excuse for such distraction. The tall man resorted to extreme measures, giving the boy's tiny nerf-tail a jerk.

If the Padawan's subsequent expression closely resembled a pout, or if he deliberately took a step away from his mentor, pressing against the cool metallic bulkhead of the control room, that was something to discuss later. Such a lapse in attention was inexcusable, and could be deadly in a different situation.

Eventually the laborious explanation of the main computer's function drew to its close, and the Techno Union engineer led the delegation down another interior corridor. "I will now show you the launch tubes, where the drilling droids are inserted into the extraction points."

Qui-Gon gravitated to the back of the group as they tramped down the echoing passage, waiting for his apprentice to fall dutifully into place beside him, slim shoulders drooping as he perceived that this would be the occasion of a reprimand.

"We are on assignment," Qui-Gon began. "Whether or not you find the subject matter fascinating, it is your duty to focus on whatever information is presented to us. Sometimes a seemingly trivial detail can prove vital to a mission's success."

"Yes, master. I'm truly sorry."

They turned a corner and entered a broader hall. "Where was your mind wandering? Among the delphinox, I imagine."

But he had missed the mark, and he knew it the next instant, as a spurt of pained indignation washed across their fledgling bond. "No, master – I wasn't – I didn't!"

Obi-Wan snapped his mouth shut and hurried onward, eyes burning into the endless stretch of polished floor. The footsteps of the inspection committee echoed into the distance.

The lack of eloquence was telling. Qui-Gon halted, bringing the boy to a dead stop a few paces ahead. Obi-Wan turned and continued to stare at the decks.

"What is this about?" the Jedi master bluntly inquired.

The boy shot him a disbelieving glare. "Can't you feel it?" he demanded, and then instantly lowered his eyes, regretting the outburst.

"What do you mean?"

"There's…. master, something is wrong here. I can feel it… the Force is…. Strange." The Padawan swallowed, searching Qui-Gon's face. "I have a bad feeling," he ended, lamely.

The tall man hesitated, hooking thumbs through his belt. He was not fool enough to suppose that he knew all the Force's secrets, and he was even this early in the apprenticeship aware that his student's and his talents did not lie in entirely consonant areas. _Premonitory_ awareness was not his specialty, by any means… though, he ruefully reflected, it was a burden Obi-Wan seemed doomed to bear.

He exhaled slowly. "Obi-Wan. Earlier, when we were sparring, you were able to continue even though your arm was in considerable pain. How is that?"

His apprentice blinked. "I ignored it," he answered, promptly.

"And you were able to focus on the match despite your discomfort. Because you chose to channel your energy in the appropraite and more needful direction."

The boy nodded, warily.

Qui-Gon gestured expansively. "In the same way, you can choose to train your focus upon the present moment and its task – your bad feeling may be rooted in the Force, but you do not therefore have to attend exclusively to its promptings."

"So… ignore my bad feeling?" Obi-Wan dubiously concluded.

"Not ignore. Prioritize."

The young Jedi still hesitated, as though doubtful this were sound advice. "I … I can do that," he tentatively replied. "I think. But… I'm not sure _ should."_

The words, taken at face value, merited a swift reprisal for insolence – but the sense of genuine confusion and dismay staining the Force between them banished any thought of punishment from the tall man's mind.

He fixed the boy with a sober look. "You _should," _ he assured his uncertain companion. "…Because I said so."


	8. Chapter 8

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

By the time they had toured the entire mobile extraction unit – from control center to the deep-sea pressure tubes connecting the spherical storage tanks to the sub-surface mines where remote-controlled droids planted delicately calibrated explosives in key locations far, far below the ocean floor- even Qui-Gon had to confess to the beginnings of a headache.

His Padawan shuffled long miserably beside him as they turned their weary steps back to the hydoskiff. The collection of officials and legal consultants trudged into the cabin, making little conversation, as the captain unmoored them from the docking port and cautiously propelled the ship away from the massive black bubble.

The Jedi stayed on the skiff's upper deck, gazing at the barnacle crusted surface of the mining platform. At such close quarters, trailing stains of sea-bird droppings could be seen criss-crossing the gleaming hull, a strange lacework of corrosion and mineral deposits texturing the otherwise perfect obsidian plating. Overhead, X'Naar's real moons peeked their heads over the horizon, glinting down on the inky sea as stars appeared in reluctant clusters behind them. The fading sun slipped behind the planet's rim, leaving them in a damp and salty night's embrace.

"I'm cold."

Too late, the Jedi master noticed the missing item. "Where is your cloak?"

"Oh… um, I think I left it in the sample compression room. It was _hot_ in there, master, and –"

A long sigh of vexation escaped the tall man. "You must be more mindful." It had been any number of years since he had been obliged to wipe anybody's proverbial nose – and yet his irritation quickly melted into solicitousness. The boy _did_ resemble a pathetic akk pup, shivering in the wet air with two arms wrapped about his slender frame. He swallowed down his impulse to tell the child that this should be a _lesson_ to him, and steered him into the back of the cockpit instead, where some shelter from the elements might be found.

The X'Naaro hydroskiff pilot smiled indugently upon them as they entered, jerking his head at the worn bench behind his seat. "You Jedi can't shoo away this'n fog, eh?"

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Alas, no. That would be a feat indeed."

The captain chuckled, peering at the pair of them curiously. "Where's yer cape, young'n?" he exclaimed. "It's freezing out here at night – there's a spare rug in the 'kit," he added, turning back to the controls.

Qui-Gon fetched the frayed blanket for his shuddering apprentice. "The mining operation is impressive," he offered, conversationally.

The skiff pilot did not turn around. "N," he responded, non-commitally. "These offworld tech-mongers think'n they've got all the answers."

The Jedi master felt for his interlocutor's weak point, and found it. "Oh yes," he agreed, casually. "Many place great confidence in novelty and gadgets – knowledge over wisdom."

A direct hit. The captain snorted in hearty agreement. "That's just it, yessir. You should'n seen the young whippers from Orbit Industrial that comes to do the safety check when all's ready. Hoo – graduate _sooma coom_ somethin' from Corellian Polytechnic, and they think'n they're geniuses. Pimply lot o skinny runts, I tell yer. Even got seasick goin' o'er from the main. Phssss."

"Ah," Qui-Gon lamented.

"And a fat lotta Wookiee-piss their company's fancy number-crunching turned out to be, too," the pilot continued. "Seeing as this mining deal's been a zero from day one. There's a lesson for yer, young Jedi sir. Sooma Coom don't amount to nothing. You wanta education, get it from one who knows as what he's talking about, not some perfessor droid off at some iffory tower, eh. You hear'n?"

Eyes dancing, Obi-Wan offered their earnest host a solemn nod. "Yes sir."

"Bacci?" The amiable captain offered Qui-Gon his pouch.

"Thank you, but no."

"Suit yerself," the garrulous X'Naaro shrugged, returning to his task.

"Those are the scientists Master Uvain is researching," Obi-Wan murmured in the Jedi master's ear."

"Yes."

The Padawan quietly continued. "Maybe the initial survey was incompetent… perhaps there are no valuable resources to be extracted at all?"

Qui-Gon pondered this idea. "Possibly. But remember what the director of operations told us: the first weeks of mining were successful beyond all expectation. After that, results tapered off sharply, suggesting technical failure."

"But the Techno Union sent in a specialist team to scan the entire system for glitches, and there was no sign of malfunction," Obi-Wan argued. "And I suppose they _are_ experts. And it was their own investment they were protecting… so it can't be a mechanical problem." He folded his arms in unconscious imitation of Qui-Gon's posture. "So it went wrong for no reason."

"Nothing happens without reason," the Jedi master insisted. "…But, yes, it is difficult to discern one here. Neither does that realization help us resolve the present debate over expenses. And we must have _something_ to tell our impatient friends at tomorrow's session."

The Padawan subsided, lapsing into a pensive silence as the ship bumped and jolted over the choppy waves. Qui-Gon studied him for a few minutes before asking the worrisome question. "What of your bad feeling? Has it abated?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No. But I can not focus on it, like you said, master."

"Good." He patted the boy's knee, projecting serene calm across their bond, although he had to admit – in the privacy of his own thought – that the sense of unease might be just a trifle… _contagious._

* * *

Tahl chose half past three a.m. standard local time to return his call. Qui-Gon rolled out of bed and flicked the comm terminal to active mode.

"You've found something on Orbit Industries," he concluded, before her glimmering blue image had a chance to speak.

The hologram's eyes narrowed. "I've found that you are barking up the wrong tree, with your usual aplomb. Orbit Industries doesn't exist."

Qui-Gon's brows rose.

Tahl smiled, leaning in closer to the holo-cam. "That is to say, Madame Librarian cannot find them in our records. And – as you know – "

"The Archives are infallible."

Golden eyes – rendered milky blue by the projection – widened in mock surprise. "I thought only _you_ were infallible," came the inevitable tart reply.

"That is… of interest. Thank you."

She tried to peer over his shoulder, though the limitations of the transmitting field did not permit such prurience. "Where's your shadow? Laid low by mathematical excess?"

The tall man spared a quiet smile. "Overwhelmed by his first look at delphinox, I think. It _is_ the wee hours here."

"Oh." Tahl arched her brows. "I would by no means keep you from your beauty rest. Force knows you need it."

He snorted, lightly, watching her graceful form flicker into a dissonant snap of light and disappear before retiring again, the odd revelation about Orbit Industries still teasing at his thoughts as he stretched out upon the opulent mattress and chased elusive slumber.

"Master?"

He raised himself on one elbow, peering at the light-limned figure in the doorframe. "You are supposed to be sleeping, Padawan."

"I've been thinking."

Qui-Gon sighed. These last two months had brought with them more insomniac nights than the last ten years combined; Obi-Wan's propensity for nightmares, restless melancholy, or passionate scholarly involvement had been difficult to accommodate at first, though they were improving. Bit by bit, he was harnessing his apprentice's high-strung temperament to the placid currents and rhythms of the Living Force, channeling nervous introspection into the rivers of wisdom.

But not apparently tonight. "I didn't understand something the tech supervisor said during the tour today."

"I did not understand _much_ of what he said," the Jedi master quipped.

The boy padded into the room, and settled on a chair cross-legged. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and thrust hands behind his head.

"What are biocompatible cyberpathways?" Obi-Wan mused, aloud. "That didn't make any sense."

"Ah. An avante garde technology employed in prosthetics and neurological enhancement techniques. Instead of a silicate-based impulse board, the computer system is built on a carbon-frame molecule, much like an organic substance. The advantage is that the components can regenerate like living tissue, and can receive neural impulses from animal synapses – and are rumored to be highly resistant to standard programming viruses and hackers' tricks. Very expensive, very experimental. But trust the Techno Union to always have the best and newest of everything."

"So the mining drones would be even more difficult to sabotage than a normal droid."

"Much. And of course the specialist investigation found no evidence of tampering. I do not think that is the key issue here."

The chair creaked as the young Jedi shifted his weight. "I think it is."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Well… I don't know. But I had an odd feeling when we were looking at the control matrix. That's where my bad feeling started."

That vague and undefined instinct again…. Qui-Gon rose, abandoning hope of further repose, and led the way into the sitting room, where moonlight smeared diffuse luminance over the plush carpets. "What would you say if I told you that Master Tahl has discovered Orbit Industries is a fraud?"

Obi-Wan trailed after him into the small kitchen, mulling upon this news. "Then who were the scientists that performed the safety inspection? The _pimply runts from Corellian Polytechnic? _Saboteurs, I'll bet."

The Jedi master prepared a weak tea, since sleep had been abandoned. "Saboteurs, hm? Complexion is not a reliable indicator of villainy, my young friend."

"That's not what I meant!" his apprentice objected, jumping up to perch upon the counter, bare feet kicking against the baseboards. "...Though Master Windu says unkempt hair is a symptom of moral decay."

"He said that?"

Kick, kick. "Well, I overheard him say it once."

Qui-Gon handed his student a steaming bowl. "Personal envy can overshadow even the brightest of wisdom," he solemnly intoned. "Remember this."

"I heed your words, master," the Padawan responded with a trifle too much lilt in his voice to convey absolute sincerity. He tucked his chin down, wrestling with a sprightly afterthought, and then lost the battle. " I will remember that next time you warn me against thinking too much."

The tall man chivvied his impish young charge off the countertop with a single terse gesture, and then pointed to the floor. Obi-Wan dropped into position, grinning unrepentantly, but winced visibly when his burned arm buckled beneath his weight.

"Ow… I'm sorry, master, it-"

"Never mind." Qui-Gon knelt down, examining the slow-healing wound. "Besides, I've reconsidered my prior judgment – your prime difficulty is not thinking _enough _before you speak."

The boy stoically endured his master's cosseting. "It's fine," he muttered.

"I will be the judge of that." Qui-Gon crouched back on his heels, pressing the bandage into place again. "Since we have managed to rise so expeditiously, let us make good use of the time with a training exercise."

Obi-Wan's mouth twisted in displeasure.

"Padawan." The Jedi master's acerbic tone wiped the unseemly protest from his apprentice's face. "Go fetch your blindfold."

"But – "

"Must I really answer that question, Obi-Wan?"

An expressive sigh. "Because you said so?"

They really were improving, steadily but surely. "Very good. Now scoot."


	9. Chapter 9

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

"Right. Right again. Pivot. Lunge. Left. Stop."

Qui-Gon Jinn's critical gaze never left his Padawan as they swept through the erratically modified or re-ordered steps of the Falling Rain kata, the younger Jedi blindfolded and yet synchronized perfectly with his mentor's movements, obeying each directive in succession without a jot of hesitance. They ended facing each other in the relaxed starting position.

"It was all mixed up, master."

"I told you to attend to my commands, not what you _expected,_" the tall man reminded him. "And you did very well."

"It still feels strange to perform it without a saber," Obi-Wan observed.

The Jedi master cast an appraising glance about the luxuriously appointed guest rooms. "I am sure the X'Naaro premier and his staff appreciate the departure from custom." He sent a Force-borne image of the suite in tatters, scorch marks marring carpet and walls, upholstery reduced to smoldering clouds of fluff.

Obi-Wan's dimples reappeared, betraying a childish delight in the imagined scene of carnage. An answering depiction of the robotic cleaning droid cursing a very vibrant blue streak as it labored to set the scene aright brushed across Qui-Gon's shields, an impressively _specific _ and detailed image for one so young to project into the Force.

"Very amusing. I think we are ready for the next challenge. Leave that on," Qui-Gon warned, as his apprentice made a bold move to regain his sight.

"Now we do it blind _and _ hobbled?" the Padawan inquired.

Qui-Gon raised a brow. "Perhaps _gagged_ might be more to the point," he suggested. "In fact, this time we will do the exercise without speaking aloud. You can graduate from doing as I tell you to doing as I _do not_ tell you."

"That is open to multiple interpretations," Obi-Wan smirked.

"Then be careful you do not commit a hermeneutical blunder," the tall man advised him. "Shall we begin?"

They worked at it steadily for another hour, the Force itself gently binding teacher to student, conveying the inaudible directives upon its ethereal currents, a braid twisting and weaving them together until intention and action were one thing, one flawless unity of motion. Silent but for the muffled thump of feet on carpet, the quiet susurration of harmonized breath, they traced out the pattern of the ancient dance, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, faltering but occasionally as they honed their subliminal connection to a razor's edge.

At long last the Padawan stumbled, the sustained concentration and exertion finally taking their toll.

Qui-Gon stood straight, pleased with the outcome of this test; they were better than improving, he assured himself. "Well done," he told his apprentice, removing the boy's blindfold and tugging lightly on the tiny learner's braid with its one crimson marker. "You are not such an indocile rogue as Troon Palo would have me believe."

Affronted, Obi-Wan's mouth hung agape. "Master Troon said –"

"That was years ago, in a private conversation. He was attempting to dissuade me from taking you on – his foremost concern being that I would corrupt your sweet, submissive nature into something more closely resembling my own."

The boy was clearly unsure whether to believe this far-fetched tale. He settled for an uncertain smile, eyes sliding sideways cagily. "Force preserve us both from such a fate."

"Indeed. Imagine Master Windu's reaction were we to appear in Council both with abundant moral decay hanging down to our shoulders. Scandalous."

This elicited a less guarded grin. "And unshaven, too."

"Don't overreach yourself, Padawan.."

The exchange of sly jests was interrupted by the door chime; one of the X'Naaro serving droids appeared with a copiously laden breakfast tray and the usual concomitant well-wishes for their day. Qui-Gon ushered it out the door with a polite bow.

"What's this, master?" his ravenous protégé asked, already reconnoitering among the edibles. "Pastries!"

"Hm." Qui-Gon whisked the deep fat fried sausages and _yarbel _rinds off to one side, but left the eggs and fruit on the serving tray. Beside them was a large platter of sugar-coated baked goods. "Choose wisely." Temple initiates had little opportunity to indulge in culinary excess, or to develop an unseemly sweet tooth.

Jedi or not, Obi-Wan could not resist the allure of a glazed pffto roll, its gently browned curves and glistening sugar coating the gastronomic equivalent of a painted harlot. "What's this one called?"

"A unwise choice," the tall man informed him.

His apprentice regretfully moved the luscious confection off his already heaping plate.

"On the other hand, there is no better catalyst for wisdom than a bit of folly," Qui-Gon said, replacing the coveted sweetbread atop Obi-Wan's hecatomb of food, and selecting another pastry for himself. "In _moderation_."

"Yes, master."

It was an exquisitely and immoderately buttery and moist bit of folly, he noted, sinking teeth into his own pffto roll. The door chimed yet again.

"Ah, excuse the invasion at such an early hour," a small X'Naaro in a clinician's baggy coat mumbled, bobbing upon the threshold. "Doctor Gre'ez, public health agency. If you will permit me, Master Jedi, we are screening everyone in the complex for Mellsh pox… you may be aware of the current pandemic, and containment is essential to –"

"Come in." The Jedi master waved him inside, suppressing a chuckle at his apprentice's suddenly tensed posture. "We understand the need for thoroughness, though we have taken the standard precautions against infection before journeying to your sector."

The nervous medic wrung his hands and unpacked his portable scanner. "Ah, yes, yes… I appreciate your cooperation, and I do apologize for the intrusion – we've been hard put to stamp this one out. Mellsh pox has a unique capacity to cross the species barrier – most pathogens are self-limiting in that respect. Here, ah…. if its not to much trouble, just a quick scan…. Yes, you appear to be fine, Master Jedi… now, if I may? Thank you, youngster, that's perfect – hold still a moment, it only takes one good pass…. You're clear too, registering active antibodies – ah, I see, you must have been inoculated recently. Well, thank the stars, that's a relief – we've quarantined most incoming flights, you understand – but ambassadors have their privileges – not that diplomatic immunity works quite like _that, _ eh?" A wheezing chuckle as he packed his instruments away again and shuffled out the door.

Obi-Wan redoubled his efforts to demolish every crumb on his plate. "Healers should be seen and not heard," he remarked acerbically.

"Such restrictions might prove salutary in a teaching relationship as well," was Qui-Gon's dry observation.

His apprentice's eyes widened with affected innocence. "But in that case, how would I learn anything?"

"You could still listen, Padawan."

"But surely not if you were forbidden to speak, master?"

The tall man's hand strayed theatrically to his 'saber hilt. "I am confident I could find other ways to inspire you, my intractable bratling."

This time Obi-Wan did not misunderstand the nickname's intent; but neither did he dare issue any further pawky retort – proof that an attentive novice could discover and implement the lessons of _balance_ at a precocious age.

* * *

"But master – won't the news about Orbit Industries just add fuel to the fire? How will telling them about further trouble contribute to a peacekeeping cause?"

Qui-Gon proceeded down the corridor at a steady pace. "You have much to learn. And you might be astonished how shared grievance against a common enemy can solidify broken alliances."

"They will like each other again because they're both outraged at Orbit, or whoever it is making the false claim to _be_ Orbit?"

The Jedi master smiled faintly. "Liking might be too strong a term – but yes, I suspect we will be able to coax some kind of agreement out of them in light of this new development."

"It's going to be utter mayhem, master. I can _sense_ it."

" Nonetheless, I want you to listen and watch carefully. Strife can on occasion be a tool of harmony."

The delegates from both sides of the debate were already present when the Jedi ambassadors arrived for the morning negotiations. An air of impatient incivility reigned.

"Well? Has the extensive inspection yesterday enlightened you, Master Jedi?"

Qui-Gon remained implacably calm. "It was suggestive, if not conclusive. But I have a more important revelation to share with you. Orbit Industries - which was sub-contracted to perform the initial geological survey and later the safety check on the mining site -is a fraudulent corporation. I fear your enterprise was hijacked from the outset."

The uproar was deafening.

_Harmony?_ The young Jedi's raised eyebrows eloquently conveyed his dubiety.

The Jedi master lifted one hand in the sign for _patience._

"I believe the X'Naaro and the Techno Union have both entered into this contract agreement in good faith, and that present difficulties are engendered not by either collaborator in this operation, but by some yet unidentified third party."

Another swelling of indignation filled the room. Obi-Wan frowned, waiting for the hubbub to die down again.

"Sobotage?" the techno Union head engineer exclaimed. "Impossible! We have checked three times!"

"I have no doubt," Qui-Gon soothed him. "But we must admit the possibility of a novel and potentially undetectable means of interference in your systems. I am sure the X'Naaro premier would be willing to contribute his impressive resources to the solving of this mystery, since you are equal investors."

Luu Pey stood. "Our port and technicians are at your disposal, though their expertise is not equal to that of the Techono Union specialists," he graciously agreed. "If we are facing the spite of some outside influence, then it is possible we can still rectify the problem and carry this operation forward."

Greed carried the day. The Techno Union lawyer folded his hands and nodded. "And we will prosecute the perpetrators to the fullest extent of the law – once they have been identified, " he added, with a significant glanre at the Jedi.

Qui-Gon held up a hand. "I suggest relocating the mining unit to an orbital dock where further examination of the key systems can be made. Perhaps the _nature_ of the damage will reveal who is responsible. The question of profit and recovery of capital can be deferred until this matter is resolved."

This course of action was met with easy approval, a palpable slackening of tension rolling through the Force. The tall man spared his apprentice a wink.

"Have you any suspects to propose? Orbit Industries must be a front organization for some other group who wishes ill to either the X'Naaro, or the Techno Union, or both."

Luu Pey grumbled disgustedly. "We have several active ecoterrorist movements here on X'Naar. I wil have planetary security round up the agitators for questioning."

A Techno Union speokseman stood. "We are in a patent rivalry with Baktoid Armories – it is possible they have sent spies to infiltrate this operation as a warning to desist the present legal conflict with them."

"Who else?" Qui-Gon demanded. "For instance: should this mining operation succeed, upon whose existing profit margins would it impinge?"

The X'Naaro premier dismissed this with a snort. "This entire enterprise has been undertaken in severest confidentiality. Our best projected outcome would prove detrimental to almost every mining monopoly in this sector. We are not so foolish as to advertise our discoveries galaxy wide."

The tall man's mouth thinned. "Walls have ears. I would not be so confident."

The delegation erupted into further debate over the possible source of their misfortune, a chaotic airing of grievances and suspicions that carried on well past the appointed hour.

"Harmony, master?"

"Of a sort," Qui-Gon assured his doubtful student. "You look upon the forging of a lasting friendship."

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. "I still think they are _brigands."_

"Perhaps. But this is an armistice nonetheless, and therefore a step in the right direction."

"If you say so, master."


	10. Chapter 10

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

"Watch your step," Qui-Gon cautioned his young companion, only to cut the overprotective warning short as his Padawan abandoned the treacherous slope entirely and sailed down the remaining five meters in a single graceful leap.

He slid down the crumbling sea-wall to its base and picked his way across the rock-strewn shore. Surf hissed and burbled among the slippery tide pools.

"Obi-Wan…. it might be prudent to remove your boots."

The young Jedi hastily complied with this good advice and picked his way across the slick landscape, carefully avoiding the luridly colored mollusks and echinoderms sprawling upon the exposed stones.

Chuckling, breathing deeply of the bracing sea air, Qui-Gon followed him out into the wide tidal zone. The Living Force sparkled brighter than the late afternoon sun on the dark waters, vibrant with a million points of light. Surely there could be no better cure for an elusive and ungrounded _bad feeling_ than this.

"We went to Vandor 3 once, to see some tide pools," Obi-Wan happily told him.

"We" meaning Dragon Clan, the Jedi master assumed. His apprentice still stood halfway between childhood and the demands of his new life, reflexively identifying himself as a member of the quasi- familial clan grouping, while facing the reality of his new role bit by bit. Someday soon, "we" would mean the Order as a whole, or conversely the master and Padawan unit. But for now, Troon Palo's boisterous clan still habitually occupied the center of his memories. "Vandor does not boast venomous blue seastars," he blandly observed.

The Padawan started, dropping the brilliant turquoise echinoderm in his hand. It plopped back into a clear pool with a soft splash.

"Of course, neither does X'Naaro," Qui-Gon added.

"Master!"

A brief water war ensued, one ending in a soaked Padawan and a smugly unsullied master.

Content with the victory, Qui-Go set to poking among the rocks and pebbles above the tide line, turning this or that glittering specimen over with a nudge of the Force. After a while, his curious protégé joined him.

"What are you looking for?"

"Nothing," the talk man replied.

His apprentice frowned, bemused, but fell into step beside him, joining in the quest for nothing. He occasionally darted forward and seized some beautiful stone, holding it out for inspection. They had amassed a sizeable collection by the time they reached the end of the beach.

"What do we do with these, master?" Obi-Wan displayed his double handful of treasures, brows raised."My belt pouches are full already, and besides, attachment is forbidden."

Qui-Gon perched upon a jutting boulder under the cliff's edge. "Nothing, of course. Toss them back in the sea."

That perennial game occupied them for several minutes. The Jedi master was surprised to find that he now had a keen rival in the rock-skipping department, a judicious application of the Force sending the tiny projectiles bouncing sixteen or seventeen times over the waves before they disappeared.

"How is your _bad feeling_ now?"

Obi-Wan pulled his feet up under himself and tucked in close beside his mentor, their backs leaning against the rough-hewn wall of granite behind. From this vantage point, the mining ship's dome rose like a mist-wreathed island, a mythical realm just past the boundaries of present reality.

The young Jedi's eyes wandered over the oceans' expanse, resting upon this oddly geometric extrusion. "It's still there, master."

"Hm." Setting a reassuring hand upon the boy's knee, Qui-Gon let his own anxieties dissipate into the moist air, into the Force. The sun sank, blinding them as they gazed over the rippling waters. He pointed to the black half-dome. "The technicians have already started unmooring the storage vessel from the mining shafts. You might get to see your fallen moon rise tonight."

The young Jedi shuddered; Qui-Gon felt the cold hand of foreboding stroke down his own spine, in spontaneous sympathy.

"It is getting late. Perhaps we should make our way back to the Tower."

But not quite yet, it would seem. "Master? You said that a small detail could prove essential to a mission's successful outcome." The boy worried at his lower lip, eyes squinting out over the scintillating waves.

"Yes?"

"Well…" The tell-tale furrow appeared between the Padwan's brows. "The skiff captain said the Orbit Industries inspectors were pimply runts."

Non-plussed, Qui-Gon tilted his head to one side. "Go on."

Obi-Wan flicked his hand, lifting a stray pebble from the shore and sending it spinning out over the foam-capped tide. "What if the _pimples_ were actually Mellsh pox scabs?"

"It is possible, Padawan, given the current epidemic… but how is that relevant?"

His apprentice leaned back into the shelter of the cliff, hugging his knees. "Biocompatible cyberpathways is how," he said, with a resonant note of certainty in his voice, the confident timber of a sure intuition far outstripping his years. And the Force chimed in agreement.

Qui-Gon sucked in a sharp breath, arrested by the thought. "That is either brilliant - or clinically paranoid," he concluded.

"Or both," Obi-Wan wryly offered. "But I'm right, aren't I?"

"Let's go." The sooner they returned to the Tower and shared the outré possibility with the head engineers, the better. Qui-Gon stood, casting an uneasy glance at the Techno Union ship. "That bears immediate investigation."

They hurried back up the shingled stretch of sand - only to be buffeted by a sudden rolling boom, an eruption of fire and steam blasting out of the sea like a geyser.

Obi-Wan halted, wide-eyes, looking in horror at the gouts of boiling water. Before their astonished eyes, another and yet another disturbance scarred the oceans' surface, the waves now writhing in disorder, choppy and storm-like. Another column of fire blasted its way from beneath the surface, sending scalding droplets like acid rain over the beach. The Jedi covered their heads and skidded among the rocks as a shock wave rolled underfoot.

Obi-Wan stumbled into Qui-Gon, clutching at his cloak. "Master!" He gripped at his solar plexus, panting.

The tall Jedi seized his apprentice by the upper arm. "Breathe," he commanded. He too could feel it, the searing cry of hundreds of sentients, terror and pain and utter confusion twisting the Force into a cramping agony. "Obi-Wan. Center."

The boy staggered upright, looking at him in shock, his face pale. It was a hard lesson, and not a welcome one.

Qui-Gon held his shoulders. "Easy." He fortified the boy's mental shields, raising artificial barriers against the overpowering influx. "Focus on me. Better."

His apprentice regained a little color. He thrust an arm out over the waves. "The people!" He choked out. "In the mines, I think. Something – it happened! They need help!"

Qui-Gon restrained him. "Padawan! Stop. Think. Use the Force. You cannot _swim_ into the mines. We will meet the emergency response crew and offer our assistance." He gripped the boy firmly. The desire to rush _toward_ danger, to _render aid, _was a powerful Jedi instinct – but it needed to be disciplined.

Panting, the young Jedi seemed to recover some of his equilibrium. "Yes, master." he flushed deeply. "I'm sorry, I… I don't know…"

"Put your boots on." Qui-Gon watched the first emergency air-vehicles circling the tumultuous sea about the mining platform. It was likely that part of the sub-surface mines had collapsed, possibly even creating a fissure in the crust, allowing pressurized magma to escape upward into the sea. He did not wish to imagine the consequences for any workers trapped in the connector tubes as they labored to unseal the system.

"Let's go." They leapt back up the stony promontory and sped onward, the Force still roaring with liquid fire and horrified screams.

* * *

The X'Naaro paramedic and emergency repair sub plunged deep beneath the roiling waves, ploughing through a murky realm spangled with bright coils of molten mineral and burbling pillars of underwater smoke, ugly and sinuous spouts of toxins writhing their way to the surface.

Obi-Wan sat stony-faced beside his teacher, watching the hellish landscape darken to an oppressive gloom as they reached the ragged floor and the insertion points for pressurized mining shafts.

Qui-Gon peered at the duraplast tubes, translucent spires descending from the storage holds far above to this jagged pile of rock and sand. One of the tubes had cracked in an explosion, and lay in shards upon the ocean floor, partially obscured by dark clouds leaking up from cracks and vents in the rough tumble of stone. The water shimmered with heat where invisible jets of gas escaped their deep graves, rising like angry phantoms.

The X'Naaro emergency crew captain grumbled in his throat, a species-peculiar noise of dissatisfaction. "Scanners are useless. We'll have to go in blind and look for survivors." He stared pointedly at the Padawan crouching beside the tall Jedi master. "With respect, this is no place for –"

"He goes where I go. This is our way," Qui-Gon bluntly ended the argument.

"Fine." The captain waved his men forward. "We'll dock the sub capsule and enter the most stable shaft. From there we'll fan out. If you encounter obstruction or dangerous seismic factors, retreat. We have no idea how much of the infrastructure collapsed, or why."

Though they all harbored the same suspicion: malfunctioning mining bots had activated the tibanna explosives without cause, triggering a depth reaction and possibly creating volcanic vents like those they had seen already. Both X'Naaro and Techno Union technicians had been in the mines, busily dismantling the operation in preparation for the planned orbital docking.

"Had to happen today," the captain muttered. "A few more hours and we'd be in the clear. Mostly only droids is down this far."

"Are you ready?" Qui-Gon quietly asked his apprentice as they filed forward to the pressure seal. The young Jedi nodded, white faced.

The Force was tainted with fear and omnipresent danger.

"It feels like Telos," Obi-Wan whispered.

"Center on the task at hand. Follow me and be mindful." The tall man took the lead, stepping into the compromised connection shaft. A trickle of pressurized air brushed againt his cheek – the atmospheric regulator had held up, thus far at least, but the temperature was oppressively hot.

They quickly passed into a cavernous labyrinth of passages and hollowed out caves, most of them lined with girders and blinking monitor panels. A thin guide rail meandered along the ceiling, parallel to a double row of phospho lamps inset in the gleaming rock.

Obi-Wan did not only follow him, but practically trod upon his cloak hem. "There are people here," he whispered. "On the left."

"I feel them." The other crew members had disappeared into adjacent corridors and shafts, seeking out the center of damage, looking for survivors. They might as well pursue the Padawan's hunch. "We'll check down this way."

The heat increased as they descended, until the air seared in their lungs and perspiration rolled in sticky trails down backs and necks. And then a sickly acid caught at their throats and set them both to violent hacking.

Fumbling a trifle, the Jedi master found his padawans' rebreather and yanked it from its pouch, unfolding the device and thrusting it into Obi-Wan's hands. No further explanation was required; a moment later, they sank down against the hot curve of the tunnel wall, sucking in gasping breaths through the portable filter systems. When his own head had cleared sufficiently, Qui-Gon stood and signaled that they should continue on, pressing forward toward the end of this passage, where the signature of frightened sentients resounded like a frantic bell in the Force.

The ground trembled beneath them, and he reached hand sideways to support his Padawan. The boy looked up at him through watering eyes, a heady mix of dread and determination washing across their bond. This adventure was, perhaps, a bit too intense for a young learner – but they had little choice now.

The earth buckled beneath them, around them, and the very air seemed to scream with renewed terror. A rumbling so deep and pervasive it could not be placed, and then a deafening crack. The phospho lamps were snuffed out in an instant, plunging them into utter blackness.

Ahead, through the inky veils, there appeared a reddish glow, the flickering hellfire of a magmaic flow. Qui-Gon's hand closed about his saber hilt; what surely lay ahead was not for a young Padawan to see. Not like this, without preparation.

The boy went rigid, feeling his cold abhorrence. Yoked in the Force, the older man could feel his student's pulse ratchet into a frenetic rhythm. Images of Telos, of captivity, of Xanatos DuCrion's mocking laughter, of blaster-riddled bodies falling upon hard flagstones, of the endless emptiness of space and the howling of the Dark – these whirled through his own mind, a thread of panic contained only by vital discipline.

The Jedi master exhaled. He must at least check for survivors. Nor he could not possibly leave the Padawan behind, alone in this star-forsaken tunnel. He braced his apprentice's shoulders for a moment, then reached for the blindfold tucked neatly in its place. Despite the smothering darkness all around them, he tied it firmly in place.

Obi-Wan's alarm projected vibrantly through the Force.

_Because I said so,_ the tall man explained, silently, taking the boy's hand firmly in his own. _Do as I tell you without question._

And he led the way onward.


	11. Chapter 11

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

They stepped forward, into an unparalleled nightmare, the older leading the younger, the Force pounding in both their ears, ablaze with strident warning.

_Forward. Keep going. Stop here._

Qui-Gon released his apprentice's hand and crouched down. A moment later, he stood, reaching out for the boy again.

_Left. We are going to jump. One, two, - now!_

They sailed together over some unseen abyss, unspeakable heat gushing up to buffet them from below. The air shook with noise, with a stench of molten rock. There was no question of removing the rebreathers; their nostrils burned with the toxic effluvia.

Qui-Gon stopped again.

_Obi-Wan. Crawl. Quickly._

The rough surfaces beneath their hands and knees burned terribly, biting into flesh and wringing more than one pained grunt from the Padawan.

_A little further. Quickly._

They stood, moving forward. The heat was an invisible hand, beating against them. Qui-Gon stopped again and again, crouching and then moving on again.

_We're going up. Jump._

This time they landed on a beam. Obi-Wan nearly slipped, but a steadying hand saved him from losing his balance. The metal seared through the soles of their boots, buckled beneath their combined weight.

_Careful. Forward, come along… jump!_

They sailed through the air, crashing into a ledge or an outcropping of hot stone. The Padawan cried aloud, a grating protest muffled by the rebreather between his teeth. Qui-Gon crawled forward, tugged at something, slid backward.

The Force surged, and a rending of beams and crumbling of stone ahead. Grit and dust pelted them. They crawled forward again. Something made a low moan, a keening sound of distress. Qui-Gon stopped, and then hoisted a heavy burden upward.

_Forward, _ he commanded. _Another shaft._

They moved quickly now, the heat abating. And then they stopped, in unison, the Jedi master failing to suppress his own flare of revulsion. Obi-Wan bumped into him, fingers of one hand twisting in his cloak sleeve.

The tall man released all emotion. _Walk straight. Do not stop, no matter what you step upon. Quickly._

They struggled forward, through a slippery and yielding surface, treacherous _things _ sliding and crumbling underfoot. The heat soaked them, melted them into itself, claimed them for its own. The world pooled and dissolved into everlasting fire…

_Wake up!_

Qui-Gon's unspoken command brought the Padawan jolting back to his senses.

_Keep going._

Obi-Wan slid, lost his footing, went down face-first upon hot grime and sticky grit. He yelled, skin stinging and heart pounding. A hand fisted in his tunics and hauled him upright.

_Keep going, young one._

They struggled on, down a narrow shaft, over another chasm, up a rickety ladder.

At last, the voices of the crew chief and the other responders. They folded the rebreathers back into their pouches.

"Another survivor here! No others, Master Jedi…?"

"No, I'm afraid not. There was substantial damage to the entire level. Indeed, I would be surprised if the pressurizer can withstand the breach much longer."

"Let's move out, people!"

They jogged along now: a press of hot bodies, the whir of hovergurneys, the tramp of heavy boots and the shush of protective gear surrounded them. Qui-Gon grasped his Padawan's hand again, tugging the young Jedi along behind him, noting that his action provoked not a glimmer of protest, no objection born of wounded dignity.

They piled over the sub-craft's docking hatch threshold. A clanging of hatches, the grinding thrum of repulsors and jet thrusters. The Jedi master pulled his charge up to the second deck, where the cabin's curved roof was far too low for him. He knelt on the deck plates, pushing the boy onto a bench.

The blindfold came off.

Obi-Wan blinked in the dim light. The ship pulsed around them.

"You did well, Padawan."

A pair of blue eyes stared at him, round and almost expressionless with shock. The boy looked down, fingers tracing the filthy rust and vermillion stains upon his cream tunics.

Qui-Gon loosened his belt and pulled the ruined tunics off, stripping them away. "We don't need those." He tossed the bundle on the floor.

Obi-Wan looked down at his knees, at the similar layer of sticky detritus. His chest spasmed.

"Breathe, Padaw-"

But the boy vomited anyway, soiling his trousers further.

"I'm sorry, master – I – "

"Hush." A crewman squeezed into the small space, handed him a canteen of tepid water.

"He all right?" the burly X'Naaro asked, hunkering down beside the Jedi master.

"We'll be fine. Thank you. I can tend to him."

The paramedic disappeared again.

Obi-Wan gulped down almost all the water, then stopped and sheepishly offered the last mouthful to Qui-Gon.

"Thank you," the tall man solemnly replied. He set the empty container aside.

"I need a bath," Obi-Wan said, emotionlessly.

"When we return. It will not be a long journey."

The young Jedi tore his gaze away from his blistered and filthy hands. "How long?"

"Not long. Focus on me. Here." He unpacked his medkit, dabbed at a few scrapes and cuts, took a blood sample to check for toxin levels.

"I couldn't see," Obi-Wan said, through chattering teeth.

Qui-Gon sat beside him, pulling the boy close. "Quiet. It won't be long."

"There was only one alive."

"Yes. But one life is still worth the risk."

"What about…? Weren't there _many_ people down there? Master, what about –"

"Hush. We will speak about it later. We need to meditate first."

His apprentice leaned against him. "I did everything you said."

"You did. Hush." He ran a hand over the boy's sticky hair, slicking the short, grime-crusted strands back. "It won't be long now."

Obi-Wan huddled against him, not quite present in the moment. "I need … I need to _bathe_," he repeated, tightly.

"I know. Be patient."

It was a long journey back.

* * *

The medical team was waiting on the docks; the few technicians rescued from the disaster site were whisked away to a medcenter without delay. Qui-Gon brusquely informed the X'Naaro premier and the horrified Techno Union representatives that he would meet them in a half-hour, pushing past their objections with a long stride and a formidable expression.

They attained the refuge of their guest suite within minutes. Obi-Wan darted for the 'fresher with unbecoming haste, not even pausing to shut the door before he was stripping off every inch of soiled and reeking clothing and plunging into the shower stall.

The Jedi master patiently collected the ruined garments and deposited them in the 'cinerator, tossing a towel into the steaming washroom and shutting the door. He knelt, submerging himself in the Force's soothing currents as his apprentice scrubbed off the horror of the last hours.

It might have been an accident, a freak of nature – but his instinct s told him the repeated explosions had been triggered by sabotage, whether short term or the result of long-term meddling. He released his own revulsion and regret, slowly unfurling his awareness into the universal light.

Some time later, his dripping Padawan reappeared. "Master?"

He opened his eyes, tolerantly regarding the bedraggled spectacle. "You have spare clothing in the travel case. I'll be just a moment."

Obi-Wan made his sopping and subdued way into the adjacent bedroom, while Qui-Gon took his turn cleaning up. When he had restored order, and combed the clinging and vile debris from his long hair, he peeked into the room to discover his student already kneeling on the floor in meditation posture.

That alone was a sign of great progress. A Jedi's first recourse should always be to the Force itself – for it often was his last refuge as well. A teacher existed to show the way – but theirs was a path that began and ended in the universal light.

He called Tahl instead.

"It's three a.m. , Qui," she complained, pulling her cloak about shapely shoulders. "Are you in need of a refresher course on diplomatic etiquette?"

"I'm in need of your expertise."

Tahl was only partially mollified by the admission. "Fire away."

He crossed his arms. "The Techno Union's mobile extraction unit here is based on biocompatible cyberpathways. The droids and the master control board are both outfitted with biocom circuits. We think saboteurs managed to compromise the entire computer system by introducing an organic pathogen into the mainframe."

Tahl's golden eyes widened. "You have finally gone mad."

"It was Obi-Wan's idea, actually."

"Then he's brilliant. It wouldn't show up in any standard cybernetics scan, it would wreak widespread damage, and best of all it would not require any tools or even access to the programmers' codes to introduce."

The Jedi master grimaced. "Somebody using Orbit Industries as a cover managed to cripple the operation here on X'Naaro. There was a severe accident today – fatalities were in the hundreds."

"I'm sorry." A heaviness between them, a moment of mutual silence. "But what can I do?"

Qui-Gon raised his chin. "Find out who would have the know-how. Biocompatibles are a cutting edge technology. Check stakeholders in the rare heavy mineral industry first, particularly in this sector."

Tahl's brows arched upward sardonically. "If I pillage the Archives any further, Jocasta Nu will have me permanently banned."

"I knew I could count on you." His mouth twitched upward at one corner.

"Hm." Tahl pulled her cloak tighter about her frame. "I hope you didn't drag your Padawan into that disaster site. It must have been ugly."

"It was, " he ruefully admitted, allowing the acute flare of memory to bleed away into the Force.

She was not fooled. "You did! Qui, you lug-head. He's _twelve_ years old-"

"Thirteen next month."

She spared him one last austere look. "I'll see what I can find," she promised, and disappeared in a fizzle of sapphire light.

Night had fallen, blanketing X'Naaro's restless sea in a soft oblivion. A scattering of stars and the dusky rims of three moons were visible through the balcony doors, the lingering heat of their recent brush with destruction ameliorated by a soft evening breeze. Qui-Gon threw the doors open and paced across the suite.

"Obi-Wan."

The Padawan rose, inclining his head respectfully.

"I must meet with the premier and his cabinet. I suggest you remain here while I deal with them."

A short nod of acquiescence.

Mildly surprised, Qui-Gon raised his brows at the lack of automatic objection, or even the oft repeated question _why._

"I have coursework to complete, master," Obi-Wan informed him, tonelessly. "I'll make good use of the time."

Better occupied than not, the tall man supposed. "A wise choice." He hooked thumbs through his belt, considering his apprentice carefully - only to be rebuffed by adamantine shielding, the reflexive armor of an involuntary lock-down. "I won't be long."

"Yes, master."

Impulsively, he stepped forward and lifted the boy's chin with one hand. "We will speak when I return."

"Yes, master."

There was not time to push further. He tugged on the Padawan's braid, and took his leave, striding rapidly down the corridor to the conference room on the lower level.


	12. Chapter 12

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

The X'Naaro were in a state of high dudgeon.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"We thought your technicians had definitively eliminated the possibility of sabotage!"

"We had no indication of such a malfunction!"

"Over a hundred dead! This far outstrips the question of profit!"

The Jedi master held up both hands for silence, waiting until the pandemonium subsided before he spoke. "This tragedy was indeed the result of sabotage – I think I can tell you precisely how the damage was wrought."

Another murmur ran around the chamber, one in which anger and disbelief were equally blended.

"Your biocompatible circuitry was _infected_ with an organic pathogen, likely the Mellsh pox virus."

The Techno Union head engineer scoffed at this. "Master Jedi, we are aware of your Order's preference for _mystical_ explanations and practices, but I assure you, _cybernetic_ pathways are not subject to such tampering. A "computer virus" – as I'm sure you have heard the term popularly employed – does not refer to-"

"I am aware of this," the tall man cut him off. "Nonetheless, I suggest you find a means of testing for such infection. I think you will be pleasantly surprised by the results."

"Impossible!" the engineer snorted.

"Do it, man!" Luu Pey snarled. "Here is a solution to the mystery, under your nose, and you refuse to look at it. We will send an expert from the medical school to assist you."

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon added, "You may be able to discover a safeguard measure."

"We cannot _inoculate_ a computer!" the skeptic muttered, as he sank into his chair. "But I will run these tests…. If it will protect our future investments."

"X'Naar will fund the investigation and development of countermeasures," Luu Pey magnanimously declared. "Our principality is still wiling to join the Techno Union in this mutually beneficial endeavor."

A round of scattered applause met this announcement.

"And I suggest you keep this latest development under wraps," Qui-Gon added. "Release only the statistics on the disaster to the local media. We have yet to uncover the true motives and identity of Orbit Industries."

He took his leave before the throng of clamoring press reporters could gain entry, shouldering past the over-eager crowd and into the adjacent corridor. He was accosted in the passageway by Doctor Gre'ez, of the X'Naaro public health agency.

"Oh! Ah… Master Jedi! I need to give the initial report on the survivors to the premier… oh dear, it's quite the crush, I'm a terrible claustrophobic, I don't like the look of that conference chamber…I'm sad to say the survivirs are struggling – it was tibanna explosive in the mines, very toxic, very very terrible." The man wrung his hands in agitation.

Qui-Gon laid a soothing hand on the overwrought medic's shoulder. "I am sorry for the loss of life, too," he said, feeling the doctor's acute perturbation in the Force. "You must look to the living."

"Ah, yes, yes…. if only , if _only_ this had occurred during normal operation – there are almost always nothing but droids in the shafts…. A mishap would have been most unfortunate, but this – this… oh dear…"

Qui-Gon shooed away a pesky cam-bot. "We will find the persons responsible," he promised the stuttering clinician. "In the meantime, I am sure the premier is anxiously awaiting your news."

Dr. Gre'ez did not seem to derive comfort from his words but he bobbed his balding head in agreement. "Yes, yes – I must go in there, I suppose…. I did not ask you – rumor has it your little, ah… what is it? apprentice? … went into the shafts? Is he quite well?"

That depended on one's point of view. "I will make sure of it," he replied. "If you will excuse me?"

He abandoned the nervous medic to his onerous task, and hastened back to the guest suite so soon as a holo-cam free avenue of escape presented itself.

* * *

The sitting room was devoid of any occupant, only a forlorn stack of holobooks and a datapad upon the low table evidence of the Padawan's presence. The tall Jedi scrolled idly through the 'pad, noting that the young Jedi's galactic history and cultures assignments had all been completed, along with the extra credit mathematics problems.

"Hm." He abandoned the diligently completed homework and peered into the bedroom instead. The lights were powered down, and his apprentice was stretched out rigidly, hands folded across his chest.

Qui-Gon strode into the darkened chamber and settled upon the mattress' edge. "You've put yourself to bed without supper," he teased.

Obi-Wan's tightly interlaced fingers fidgeted. "I'm not hungry."

That might be so, but –"Doesn't such studious zeal as you suddenly possess deserve a reward? I'll call the server droid."

"I'm fine, master."

"I don't think that's true." He waved the lamp to a soft-edged glow. The Padawan's fingers wound together further, pressing against their owner's belly as though quelling an incipient uprising. "Indeed, I think something would be wrong with you were you actually _fine."_

"I meditated," Obi-Wan protested. A scowl shadowed his features. "Like you showed me. I just felt tired, so, so…" He trailed off, faltering under Qui-Gon's patient but unbelieving gaze.

"I'm going to order some dinner. You need to eat."

"But, master-"

"Because I said so. Up."

His apprentice knew better than to offer further resistance. He levered himself upright and swung his legs off the bed. "Yes, master."

Ignoring the mournful intonation of this well-worn phrase, Qui-Gon led the way back into the main suite, his downcast shadow padding behind him.

"Today was difficult," he started, pressing the service bell. "The rescue operation was unexpected; this was supposed to be a simple diplomatic mission."

Obi-Wan made no reply, so he pressed on. "I was caught off guard by the … intensity… of the disaster site. Sometimes we must adjust to circumstance."

The droid arrived at the door, and he sent it away with a detailed order.

"I had a bad feeling about it," his Padawan said, studying the floor.

"Yes."

"So I – we could have prevented it. That's why the Force told me. So we could _stop _it. But… but we didn't. I mean… " He shifted his weight, toes digging agitatedly into the fibers of the carpet.

Ah. The curse of foresight. "Obi-Wan." He waited until a pair of blue eyes rose to his face. "Your premonition was vague, formless. What measures do you think we might have taken?"

The boy shrugged. "Evacuate the whole ship?"

"And you think the Techno Union would agree to such a thing, on the grounds of your indistinct anxiety?"

"No." Obi-Wan hung his head. "But it's my fault. Because I _felt_ it coming but I didn't do anything."

There was a thread of accusation there as well. The Jedi master placed hands on hips. "And why is that?" he asked, already knowing the inevitable answer.

His Padawan squirmed, but in the end mettlesome spirit won out over grief. "Because you _said so!"_

Qui-Gon held his temper in check. They were just beginning, and had much to learn. "And what I told you was – and still is – right. A _bad feeling_ is not in and of itself sufficient foundation for any action or conclusion. "

Obi-Wan looked away, visibly wrestling with his own temper. This was a new development, though not unexpected. The tall man considered him gravely.

"I sense your anger, Padawan."

Obi-Wan's mouth pressed into a hard line. He made no answer.

But this was only an obstacle in the road, not the real trouble. "You may throw your tantrum on that chair, facing yonder wall, in silence. Dinner will be delivered in ten minutes by which time I expect you to have worked yourself back into a reasonable frame of mind."

The pronouncement did nothing to dampen his Padawan's sour mood, but the boy did stalk off to his assigned post in conformity with the tall man's command.

The droid arrived a full quarter hour later, and took several minutes to lay out the food. Judging that a certain youngling's tempers should by now have simmered down, particularly with the enticing aroma of hot food wafting about the room, Qui-Gon drew up a seat beside his Padawan and reentered negotiations.

"Well?"

"I'm truly sorry, master. My anger is unjustified and shows that I still have much to learn." The words were recited by rote, but that was sufficient for a beginning.

"It does. Now what lies at the root of this?"

"Master…." Obi-Wan looked up at him earnestly, the prior display of pique replaced by its underlying vulnerability. "How many… people.. were down there?" He swallowed. "There were many, weren't there?"

Qui-Gon would not lie. "There were many. It was discouraging. But that should not be your focus. It is done, and belongs to the past."

"You didn't let me see," his obstinate apprentice said.

"No. It was for the best. You are not ready for… such distractions. Not yet."

"I could… _feel.._ some things…"

"I know. I'm sorry." Even with the blunting influence of Qui-Gon's mind on his shields, the young Jedi had doubtlessly perceived _some_ of the indescribable scene through the Force. There was no help for it.

The Padawan sucked in a deep breath. "When I fell… there were, there were-"

"I know. Do not focus on it, Obi-Wan. You must release."

"I wasn't _afraid, _ master," Obi-Wan insisted, wide eyes pleading with him now, begging him to forgive all evidence of weakness, of revulsion.

Qui-Gon's heart melted a bit. _"I_ was."

"But-"

"Padawan. Do not argue with me."

The boy curled in on himself a bit, as though holding a dam against a crushing flood.

The Jedi master brushed fingers against one cheek. "You are not diminished in my regard for feeling fear, in such surroundings. And you did well. I am proud of you."

Obi-Wan nodded, too quickly, jaw trembling.

"I do not think you released _everything _ during meditation," Qui-Gon gently chided, wrapping the boy in both arms.

The dam broke, but Qui-Gon and the Force were stronger safeguards, deeper pools into which the floodwaters might eventually run. The tall man sat patiently until the horrors of the unseen, of the half-remembered, had poured out into the plenum and left them high and dry in the X'Naaro's Tower guest room again.

"Our meal is growing cold," he reminded his young companion after a quiet stretch of minutes. "We must move quickly to avert another tragedy."

Obi-Wan was Jedi to the core. No matter what his personal feelings, he was ready to set them aside to forestall further disaster. He sat with Qui Gon and applied himself to the food with an astounding enthusiasm for someone who had no appetite, even expressing gratitude and delight when it was revealed that the ordered courses included a rich X'Naaro dessert.

He threw himself into this final task with such vigor that it left him drooping, stifling a wide yawn with one hand as they sat over _tarbamint_ tea.

"Into bed," the Jedi master ordered, taking pity on his wilting apprentice.

"'s master," came the slurring response.

Qui-Gon checked on the boy a few minutes later, with intention of employing a subtle Force-suggestion to seduce overwrought nerves into dreamless slumber, only to find that his skills were not required. He threw an extra blanket over his Padawan and counted the evening's discussion as a minor victory.

Little by little, they were getting better.


	13. Chapter 13

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

They slept in, contrary to all precedent.

Morning light streamed between a chink in the self-tinting windows' photosensitive coating and flitted from thence over the quiet sitting room and beneath the miniscule crack under the bedroom door. Qui-Gon Jinn was instantly alert, mindful that he had lingered in dreamland far past his customary hour, and that the X'Naaro premier's office would doubtless be expecting his presence.

He completed a brisk toilette and roused the other bed's occupant, pulling off the twisted blankets and ignoring the incoherent mumblings that ensued.

"Five minutes," he warned.

Six minutes later Obi-Wan presented himself for inspection, and was summarily sent back to brush his hair into a semblance of order. The serving droids had already come and gone, leaving a breakfast tray for the Jedi's enjoyment. Qui-Gon poured tea into two cups.

The Padawan reappeared, still resembling a drazzil lizard with its frill raised, but the Jedi master decided to let it pass. Perhaps if he clipped the boy's hair just a tad shorter…?

"No pastries this morning," Obi-Wan observed, disappointed.

Qui-Gon crumbled half a protein capsule into the tea cup and handed the steaming bowl to his student. "Drink this – we haven't time for a full repast."

Grimacing, the Padawan obeyed. He choked down the concoction with stoic resolve and looked up at Qui-Gon again, expectant.

The comm transmitter signaled an incoming message.

"Obi-Wan!" Tahl Uvain's face softened into a delighted smile, her blue effigy wavering slightly over the projector plate. "Where is your master? Still sluggishly abed?"

The young Jedi cast an amused glance over his shoulder; the subject of this accusation positioned himself behind the boy, within holo-cam range.

"Oh, there you are. You'll be pleased to know that I've incurred Madame Nu's wrath by challenging the integrity of the Archives records… but I've nothing to show for it."

Qui-Gon shifted impatiently. "Nothing?"

Tahl's delicate brows rose. "Some questions cannot be answered because they are inherently flawed," she snapped. "There is _no_ mining or industrial interest in that sector with any obvious motive or knowledge base for the kind of sabotage you are talking about. I've researched the Baktoid Armory lead, of course, but they prefer court battles, since they all but _own_ three Sector Circuit Court judges. And your X'Naaro eco-terrorist movement is an amateurish group of clods. They couldn't pull this off."

The tall man crossed his arms. "There must be another possibility."

Tahl shrugged. "That's your problem. If you'll excuse me, Council meets in ten minutes, and I've a report to prepare."

"May the Force be with you, Tahl. And thank you."

She graced them with a sardonic smile. "Keep an eye on that old ruffian, Padawan."

Wide-eyed, Obi-Wan offered her a bow. "I will, Master Uvain."

Qui-Gon reached over his shoulder to end the transmission. "A dead end," he grumbled.

"Now what master? We're not going to give up?" Obi-Wan asked, incredulous.

The man snorted. "Of course not. But we are in for a bit of research, my young friend."

"I _like_ research," the Padawan assured him. "I'm ready, master."

"I will inform the Luu Pey that we are pursuing the matter of Orbit Industries and need access to the state records and financial statements; I think we can afford a short delay – the disputants have reached a temporary truce. In fact, if we could pin blame on the guilty party, I believe they can be persuaded to lay their differences aside and move forward."

They departed a moment later, en route to the premier's office.

* * *

Hours later, Qui-Gon laid aside the last datapad in his hefty stack and rolled aching shoulders, massaging his neck with both hands. He was tempted to observe, a la Obi-Wan, that sifting through legislative minutiae was for droids.

He stole a glance at his apprentice, who had initially thrown himself into the new task with great verve, but who had in the course of the long morning sunk further and further into the premier's expensive nerfskin sofa, until he was all but prone, datapads stacked in blinking piles all about him. Another was propped upon his chest. Only the drumming of slim fingers against the device's narrow edges indicated that the young Jedi was still awake.

"Well?" the tall man inquired. "Any further epiphanies?"

"No, master," Obi-Wan sighed. "I don't really know what I'm looking for. Somebody here on X'naaro who has reason to destroy the mining operation and would stop at nothing to achieve that end. I don't understand how all this _money_ talk will help."

That was the beauty of a Jedi upbringing, Qui-Gon supposed. "There is an old folk saying that money makes the galaxy go round, Padawan." It had not resonated with him at twelve years old, either. But then, neither he nor Obi-Wan had ever had need of money at that age.

"I know that, master." An indignant thump as the last 'pad was set atop its neighbors. The boy sat up, looking frazzled. "I have a headache," he observed peevishly. "All those budget reports _hurt."_

The Jedi master chuckled. "Our politician friends might heartily agree with you there."

Obi-Wan stood, disconsolate. "Can't we go outside, master? We could… run. Or something."

Qui-Gon's brows rose. He glanced out the office window, where rain drove in sheets against the transparisteel panels. "In this weather?"

The young Jedi fidgeted in place. "Why not?"

A legitimate argument. There was a footpath running from the base of the tower along a few kilometers of the coast, a well-groomed trail for the enjoyment of those seeking a recreational hike or a scenic view. On such a wet day, there would likely be no other pedestrians. And they could both stand to work off some nervous energy. "Very well."

His apprentice hurried eagerly behind him as they made their way down to the Tower's base, and out into the blustering elements. The storm was carried on a polar front, icy wind cutting through their tunics as they turned faces upward to the downpour. Obi-Wan frolicked and cavorted down the first ten meters of the graveled path, glorying in the rain as though he had never-

"Padawan! Have you never _been_ in a storm?"

It was possible, Qui-Gon reasoned. Coruscant's weather was strictly regulated by orbital mirrors and a complex pressurization system.

"A few times but not like this!" A cartwheel, then a traveling backflip or three. The boy jogged back to his side. "Garen and I got in tremendous trouble once for hiding in the gardens when it rained. Ali Alaan was apoplectic, and –"

"Why do all your reminiscences involve Initiate Muln and you being punished for misconduct?"

Obi-Wan considered the matter soberly. "Garen is a loose cannon, master.'

"Hm. Let's get our blood moving – it's growing cold." He set off down the narrow trail at a moderate pace, one which demanded that his young companion half-sprint to keep up with him.

They ran all the way to the path's end, where it faded into an indistinct marsh region skirting the edge of the workers' dwellings. The native X'Naaro were sheltered within their simple homes and shops, smoke here and there rising bravely into the pelting rain.

Qui-Gon slowed to a standstill, soaked to the bone and pleasantly invigorated by the light exercise. Obi-Wan skidded to a halt beside him, breathing hard but not spent.

"Mmm. Food," the Padawan hopefully observed.

They found a sort of eatery, a place where X'Naaro women prepared seafood over fusion stoves. The Jedi were quickly surrounded by curious onlookers as they stood dripping beneath the overhanging eaves.

Republic credits were fingered and then rubbed together for good luck; a heaping platter of steamed shellfish and mollusks on a bed of red grain was set before them, along with a large jug of fermented beverage. The tall man waved this away.

Obi-Wan approached some of the more bizarre specimens on the platter with caution, but eagerly consumed those things he could readily identify. "Ugh, master… snails."

"Delicious," Qui-Gon remarked, popping a tender morsel in his mouth.

They dripped and steamed and glutted themselves to their hearts' content. The X'naaro sat on nearby benches and unabashedly stared at them, grinning widely and pointing to their weapons, occasionally making comments in a pidgin blend of Basic and their native tongue.

At last they stood, and bowed their thanks to both their hosts and the curious spectators, and set back along the path. The rain had lightened to a mist.

"It's cold," Obi-Wan complained.

"Then start running."

A few kilometers later they arrived back at the X'Naaro government center, sopping wet, and spattered in mud and – in the Padawan's case- the greasy detritus of their luncheon. The porters gaped at them as they entered the gleaming lobby and hailed a lift.

Qui-Gon leaned against the interior rail, arms crossed. "A fine idea. And a better use of time than poring over budget reports."

"What about Orbit Industries, master?"

The tall man shrugged. "The Force will illuminate. We shall be patient." He led the way into the upper level corridor, and thence to their rooms.

They left mud-crusted boots at the door and exchanged damp and soiled clothing for sleep pants, the only garments left after their spares had been incinerated in the aftermath of their disastrous mine excursion. Rain thundered against the walls, streamed off the windowpanes.

They meditated, at Qui-Gon's behest. Then they reviewed Obi-Wan's logic and rhetoric assignments, also at Qui-Gon's behest. Then they played several rounds of sabaac, at Qui-Gon's behest – all of which issued into resounding victories for the Jedi master. Finally, at Obi-Wan's behest, they engaged in a fierce wrestling match, which also issued into a certain victory for the elder participant in the contest.

"Yield."

"No – ow! Ow, master!"

"Yield, my foolish brat."

"Never – I'd rather spend all eternity in the healers' ward – _uuuungh!"_

"I'll take you in to Ben To for a _complete_ physical when we return to the Temple."

The Padawan barked with pained laughter. "I yield! I yield!"

"I thought so." Releasing his prisoner, Qui-Gon stood.

And then froze, arrested by a novel thought.

"What is it, master?" His apprentice clambered to his own feet, gazing upward at his mentor in confusion.

Qui-Gon held up a hand. "The budget reports," he mused. "How was the initial geological survey funded? Before X'Naar contracted with the Techno Union for their services?"

Obi-Wan frowned, recalling the information to mind. "Umm… a grant. The government here has an endowment for the "Progress and Development of the X'Naaro People".. they allot funds to various projects each year. The mining endeavor has claimed large sums ever since its inception."

Qui-Gon nodded. "What projects did it _displace?"_

The young Jedi blinked. "Well, there was a water purification project.. but that didn't account for much.. and a grant for arts and culture, performances and a museum…. And the leftover funds all revert to the public health agency for research and different humanitarian projects. Nothing really stands out as unusual."

"Perhaps."

Obi-Wan folded his arms. "I can tell you have an idea," he said, squinting at the Jedi master accusatorily.

"I do," the tall man murmured. "I think I've found our felon."

"Who, master?"

"Obi-Wan. I want you to do just as I say."

"But – "

An upraised finger and a stern look silenced his objection.

"Yes, master."

"Good. Do you remember that Force control technique we practiced last month? For maintaining your core temperature in extreme environments?"

"…Yes." The boy frowned at him, quizzically.

"Go lie down. And give yourself a raging fever."

"But you said that any Padawan who had the audacity to attemp-"

"I know what I said, Obi-Wan."

The young Jedi fell silent again, biting his lip.

"Go on, then."

"Yes, master." The boy scuttled away, resigning himself to his task without knowing precisely _why._

Qui-Gon smiled grimly, and went to make a call.


	14. Chapter 14

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 14**

"Thank you for coming personally, Doctor Gre'ez."

The medic bobbed and bowed upon the threshold, clearing his throat and lugging his medkit in behind him. "No trouble, Master Jedi ,no trouble, I am happy to tend your, ah, apprentice. I was in the building already, and of course as ambassadors we are honored by your presence here on X'Naaro, and ah... What appears to be the trouble?"

Qui-Gon ushered the small man into the suite. "It may be nothing of importance, but in light of the recent pandemic, I thought it prudent to seek your expert opinion." He led the way into the adjacent bedroom.

Doctor Gre'ez shuffled in behind him and nervously set his kit at the bed's foot, extracting a scanner and rubbing a microbe-barrier gel into his hands. "Let's see, oh dear, oh dear…"

The Jedi master leaned over his Padawan, who had succeeded admirably in feigning acute fever. His skin was flushed to a vibrant pink hue, red spots standing out on his cheeks, sweat beading at his hairline. "Obi-Wan. Let Doctor Gre'ez have a look at you."

He ignored the mutinous look this earned him, laying a paternalistic hand upon his young friend's forehead and turning to the clinician. "The fever came on quite abruptly. We took a prolonged run in the rain earlier today, but I do not think that would account for such a sudden chill."

The medic putzed about, passing the scanner over the young Jedi's chest and sticking a probe in his ear canal. Obi-Wan flinched and squirmed, scowling eloquently at his mentor.

"Hmmm… very odd. He is running a high temperature… but there seems to be no physiological indicator…"

"You do not think it is an outbreak of Mellsh pox?"

"Oh, no, no… that seems unlikely. On rare occasion, of course, the disease can actually be incubated by a vaccination – but the symptomology is very unique."

"I defer to your expertise.. but is not the virus amazingly virulent? Rumor has it that the pathogen can even affect cybernetic pathways."

Doctor Gre'ez blanched. "Nonsense, " he stuttered.

"Here, Padawan, drink."

Doctor Gre'ez recovered his composure, fussing over his patient and then bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, brows furrowed. "This might be a result of strain induced by psychological stress. He was in the mine shafts just after the explosions – that was a very traumatizing experience for such a young boy, you know. Does he have a delicate temperament?"

"Neurotic," Qui-Gon blandly asserted.

Obi-Wan promptly choked on his water and spent the next minute coughing violently.

"You Jedi may have your own specialists, but I recommend a mind healer at the first opportune time…and of course in the meantime, plenty of rest. If the fever is psychosomatically induced, the best thing for him would be a mild sedative. I can administer that, if you would like."

The Padawan shot a fulminating stare at his teacher.

"That might be wise," Qui-Gon placidly replied, shooting a repressive glance at his silently outraged protégé.

"Such a pity, such a pity," the medic muttered, fumbling about with his supplies. "Nothing fit for a child to see… and a waste of life, a terrible waste of life."

"Yes," the Jedi master agreed solemnly. "I understand there are generally nothing but droids below sea level, and certainly at the actual extraction site. A terrible tragedy that the systemic meltdown occurred on the day it did."

Gre'ez's hands shook as though with palsy. He dropped a hypo canister and shakily recovered it. "Yes… terrible. Unthinkable."

"And a dark turn of fate for the person responsible. X'Naaro law punishes such actions with death, whereas mere destruction of property merits only imprisonment."

The medic fumbled the equipment again. "Person responsible… but surely this was a malfunction?"

Qui-Gon stepped forward to assist the agitated clinician. "Ah. Did Premier Pey not inform you? The biocompatible circuits were infected with Mellsh pox virus. It was intentional sabotage introduced by a fraudulent surveying company. A very clever scheme…. But sadly, one that has resulted in widespread murder."

Doctor Gre'ez dabbed at his forehead. "I was not aware of these… theories."

"No?" The tall man cocked his head to one side. "Then it is difficult to explain the evidence linking you to Orbit Industries."

This revelation was too much for the medic. He sank down upon the mattress, mouthing syllables without sound. "Evi- no, no…. "

"You conspired to sabotage the mining operation," Obi-Wan accused him , quietly. "All those people! You – "

"No, no!" Gre'ez seized his head with both hands. "No, child! It was not supposed to be this way! Only droids, do you hear me? There are only _droids_ in the mine shaft – ever! How was I to know? It should not have happened as it did… oh, sweet heaven forgive me…. What you saw – that I never intended!"

The boy frowned, caught between pity for the sniveling doctor and abhorrence at his actions. He turned to Qui-Gon, confused.

The tall Jedi laid a hand on the medic's shoulder. "You are under arrest, in the name o the Galactic Republic." he said. "I am sorry both for your pain, and for the lives so needlessly lost."

Gre'ez collapsed in a weeping ball, all but deaf to these words.

Obi-Wan drew away, slipping off the bed to stand at Qui-Gon's side while the X'Naaro security men waiting in the corridor beyond hustled in and dragged away the unfortunate medic. They departed in a tramp of boots and wailing sobs from Gre'ez.

"He had it all planned out," the Padawan said, when they were alone again. "Why did he do it?"

"For money – so that he might continue funding his research and humanitarian projects. The mining operation diverted vital finds away form the public health agency. He did it to save lives."

Obi-Wan released an unhappy breath. "Ends do not justify means."

"Not always."

"He did not seem…. I expected someone _evil, _ master."

"And let that be a lesson to you, also. It does not always require utter depravity to cause terrible suffering or destruction. Greed or zeal for one cause above another can be sufficient. This is a such a case: not malice, but an _imbalanced_ perception of relative goods, motivated his actions and caused all the trouble here on X'Naaro."

The young Jedi absorbed these words quietly. "So he is not evil?"

"He is responsible for great evil, Obi-Wan. That is enough for any sentient. And now, or very soon, I think our task here is complete."

"Master?"

"Hm."

"What evidence was there linking him to Orbit Industries? You said –"

"There was none," Qui-Gon serenely informed him.

"But-"

"There is more than one way to negotiate in a tight spot, Padawan. Remember this."

"Oh. Yes, master."

* * *

"Astonishing." Luu Pey sank into his chair, heavy jowls wobbling in dismay at the news. "Doctor Gre'ez has received many awards and interplanetary recognition for his humanitarian work! I cannot believe that he would take lives in such a callous manner."

Qui-Gon acknowledged the premier's stunned reaction with a small nod. "It was clear that he did not anticipate any sentients suffering harm. The damage introduced into the system was intended to cripple the mining droids during normal operation, when the only engineers were in the upper control center. He did not foresee the possibility of so many deaths."

The leader of the X'Naaro legislature sighed, folding his fleshy hands across his richly embroidered robes of office. "To think that greed for funding – for _money- _ could motivate such a person… it is a terrible thing."

Qui-Gon ignored the sharp kick to his ankle delivered by his apprentice, whose blue eyes widened slightly at the politician's ironic statement.

"It is to be hoped the Techno Union programmers and your own medical experts can find a countermeasure to protect future endeavors."

Luu Pey smiled broadly. "I am assured they are already making strides. Indeed, I will tell you – in the strictest confidence of course – that we intend to patent the resulting discovery and sell it at huge profit to others employing biocompatible cyberpathways. Your insight, Master Jedi, has opened up a new avenue of wealth for both the X'Naaro and the Techno Union. We are all in your debt."

The next kick bordered on painful; Qui-Gon spared a quelling look for his indignant student. _Not now._

He stood, making sure the boy followed suit. "We come to serve, premier. I am gratified that X'Naar has set aside its dispute with the Techno Union and reestablished peaceable relations."

Once in the safety of the corridor, Obi-Wan could not contain his outrage any longer. "They are going to use the tragedy to make more _money?"_ he exclaimed, youthful voice cracking with vehemence.

"Not the tragedy as such, Obi-Wan. Just your _intuition."_

This shift in perspective was even less palatable. The young Jedi scowled at the tiled floor, half-trotting to keep pace with his tall companion. "Wonderful."

"Console yourself, Padawan: you will never be credited with the idea."

They found the refuge of a private balcony, overlooking the choppy sea. Storm clouds retreated on the far horizon; shorebirds circled and dived, occasionally rising awkwardly from the waves with a slippery prize clutched in their beaks.

Obi-Wan somberly watched the tumultuous display, hands curled about the railing. "Master? The mission is complete now, isn't it?"

"Yes. The final disposition of Dr. Gre'ez's case and the further developments regarding the mining operation are not our concern… we came to establish a concord, and we have done that."

The young Jedi frowned over this.

"I we stayed to see every planet's affairs out to their bitter conclusion, Obi-Wan, we would end up rooted on any given world for months, perhaps years. We cannot afford to become so involved – there is much to be done elsewhere, always."

"What will happen to Dr. Gre'ez?"

The tall man released a long breath. "I do not know. It is to be hoped justice will be served."

"I don't know whether to feel sorry for him or not," Obi-Wan admitted.

Qui-Gon placed one hand over the boy's much smaller one. "Then you will be meditating on it later."

Silence. Obi_Wan, still cloakless due to his earlier negligence, shivered in the cold sea air. "So… are we leaving now, master? If our work is done?"

"No. I think we shall stay for the memorial service. The victims of the mining disaster are to be honored this evening."

His Padawans' shoulders hunched. "I – must we attend?"

"Yes." As sympathetic as he might be to the boy's distress, some things must be faced. "We must." In answer to the pleading look sent his way, he added the obvious justification. "Because I said so."

* * *

Votives twinkled in every window of the X'Naaro dwellings surrounding the Tower. The procession passed slowly among them, wending its way among the homes of the deceased, slowly ascending the piled dunes eastward of the salt march. There the memorial beacons were lit, and the traditional chants intoned. Premier Pey and a delegate from the Techno union delivered solemn eulogies to those lost in the mines, now forever buried beneath the sea, immolated in raging fire beneath the planet's crust.

Sweet bread was passed hand to hand, and then a bitter purifying herb, and finally a wide bowl of some sweet liquid. People sat in groups, murmuring among themselves, tending the fires, They would stay thus until dawn.

Qui-Gon sat a small distance apart, his Padawan beside him. The Force was heavy with the grief of so many, the helpless weeping of wives and children, brothers and mothers and friends. It settled upon the Jedi like a stifling mantle, a burden woven of others' pain.

The Jedi master wrapped a fold of his own cloak about the boy and maintained a respectful vigil on the margins of the X'Naaro mourning circle, wandering between the melancholic scene and the placid shores of the Force. Obi-Wan eventually slumped and fell asleep against him.

At dawn, as the memorial fires smoldered into ash and the gathering broke up, he roused his sold-benumbed Padawan and led the way down the sandy slope and back to the Tower. It was, at last, time for them to depart.


	15. Chapter 15

**Because I Said So**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Tahl was waiting for them inside the Temple docking bay, her brows curving into a pert arch as she bestowed a deep bow of greeting upon Master and Padawan descending from the shuttle's aft hatch.

"What a coincidence," Qui-Gon remarked, studying her face intently.

"I hacked into space traffic control and looked up your landing clearance signal," the golden-eyed master explained, throwing one arm about the young Jedi's shoulders in a warm and welcoming embrace.

Obi-Wan tucked his head down and blushed but did not issue any strident objection.

"Of course," Qui-Gon snorted. "What other classified information do you know?"

Tahl Uvain's perfect mouth widened into an alluring smile. "Far too much for your comfort parameters, Qui."

He lifted a brow and strode onward, forcing both his smaller companions to follow in his formidable wake. "Master Uvain is half pirate, half spice smuggler, and half parlour magician, Padawan. Beware her guiles."

Tahl chuckled. "And Master Jinn is no part mathematician, apparently. Come to me if you need help with astronavigation, young one."

"I will, master… and I did solve all the problems, like you said."

It took her a few paces to make the connection.

"Spicy djo! Yes, you shall have it. Tell Qui-Gon to bring you to my quarters later tonight, after the Council has grilled the two of you thoroughly."

The Padawan sent his master a look of purest alarm.

"A figure of speech, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, master."

"And where is your cloak?" Tahl demanded, eyeing the young Jedi critically. "You've left it on board the shuttle."

Qui-Gon halted, folding his arms. "Ah, but he is in for more than one grilling. We must now face the wrath of Master Pakkra, who will be obliged to issue us a new one."

"Oh dear. May the Force be with you," Tahl intoned, parting ways with them at the next intersection.

* * *

"I trust all your field equipment functioned satisfactorily?" the quartermaster inquired, his head wavering hypnotically atop his thin neck.

"Yes, thank you." Qui-Gon handed the Quermian Jedi the shipboard emergency kit. "Though we do have an additional requisition to make."

Master Pakkra clasped his hands together in the gesture of patience.

"Padawan." Qui-Gon applied pressure to his student's back, between the shoulder blades.

Obi-Wan gazed up into the redoubtable Quermian's pale face, mortification blooming on his cheeks. "I – ah, I need another cloak. Master."

The head came down to the young Jedi's level, a pair of milky eyes peering caustically at the speaker. "You do not seem to have grown _very_ much in your short absence. No pun intended."

The Padawan swallowed, a combative line appearing between his brows.

Master Pakkra straightened up. "Therefore I assume your other cloak was torn from your back by space pirates, or was shredded by blaster fire in a pitched battle?"

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply truthfully, but Qui-Gon came to his rescue. "He is young and has much to learn. It will not happen again." _This month, _he mentally qualified.

"Really, Master Jinn," the quartermaster huffed as he disappeared into the back storeroom. "Stewardship of the Order's resources is a lesson which _cannot _be taught too young." He reappeared a few minutes later bearing a neatly folded bundle of russet cloth., fixing the tall man with a penetrating stare. "Be mindful that you do not fail in this duty."

"Thank you, master," Obi-Wan whispered as they escaped Master Pakkra's domain. He clutched the new cloak to his chest like a mewling infant.

"My pleasure, Padawan. I am oath-bound to protect you, and truly I had nothing to lose. My own reputation with Master Pakkra is far from sterling."

"Yes, master." The dimples peeked out from hiding.

"Of course, I do expect his words to sink in and stick. Another such encounter might prove detrimental to professional rapport."

"If you say so, master."

* * *

The Council debriefing was extensive enough to qualify as a grilling. Qui-Gon stood close beside his apprentice, sending a steady wave of calming energy to the boy as he manfully attempted to stand without fidgeting or allowing his attention to wander during the entire two hour session.

_Courage, Padawan._

It was Obi-Wan's first experience with a lengthy post-mission explication; their first adventure on Telos had ended in injury and a lengthy stay in the healers' ward for the young Jedi, thus sparing him the torment of the Council report. When the pair were finally dismissed, his tenuously-shielded delight all but lit up the circular chamber.

A few of the gathered Masters frowned; old Yoda chuckled merrily in his seat at the place of honor, winking slyly at Qui-Gon just before they made a formal bow and departed.

"Does it always take so long, master?"

The tall man brushed his palm against the lift control, sending them shooting down to the south tower's base. "That was abbreviated for your sake."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Do we get to visit Master Uvain now?"

Qui-Gon straightened his Padawan's cloak hood. "After a walk in the gardens, I think."

"The gardens? But why-" He stopped short, mouth twisting as the Jedi master regarded him with an all too familiar expression. "Because you said so," he dutifully finished.

"Better. Come along."

* * *

Qui-Gon led the way along his favorite footpath, Obi-Wan trailing behind as yarbanna fronds brushed their shoulders and the gravel crunched gently beneath their boots. The river's song chimed faintly in the background, a melodious burbling eroding time's foundations. They walked slowly, contemplatively, to the still center of the meditation labyrinth, where the Force was a susurration in their blood, a quiet swelling in their breaths.

Here they were both young, but a pair of relative newcomers on a path stretching back a thousand generations into history. Qui-Gon knelt, and waved his apprentice down beside him. They were silent for an immeasurable span of breaths.

"I meditated during the return journey," Obi-Wan told his master. "As you said."

"Good. And what have you decided about Doctor Gre'ez?"

The Padawan studied his hands, resting lightly upon his knees. "I do feel sorry for him, master. I .. I feel sorry for him because he was led astray by his own cause. He chose evil thinking it would do good – and then his evil transformed into something much worse than he imagined… far beyond his control. That would be awful."

The tall man nodded. "Awful indeed. But some would say still a thing of his own choosing. Wherefore do you feel pity, then?"

"He was so… remorseful. When we accused him." Obi-Wan frowned. "It was his own wicked doing that brought such suffering, including his own, I know - but nevertheless..."

Qui-Gon waited for the rest.

"I feel sorry for him because... he knew where he wanted to go, master – but he didn't know the _way._ And perhaps he didn't have anyone to show him." The boy shyly lifted his eyes to Qui-Gon and then dropped them again, tugging at a blade of soft grass.

The Jedi master returned the wave of gratitude and affection cresting through the Force; though authority was of necessity unilateral between master and student, the benefit and privilege of their relationship was mutual.

"These are all good reasons for compassion," he replied, gravely. "We must hope that Doctor Gre'ez finds peace before all is done."

His apprentice did not ask the obvious question about the medic's fate. They sat in silence a while longer, and then Obi-Wan broached another topic. "Master? You said… before, I mean – you said that _nothing happens without a reason."_

Qui-Gon sighed. Ah, yes. "And yet it is difficult to see why the mines collapsed the day they did? Not even the man responsible for the destruction intended such suffering. And so it appears to be a tragedy without purpose or cause."

The Padawan twisted the grass between his fingers. Qui-Gon reached sideways to still their fretful motion. "It _is_ a living thing, Obi-Wan. Do not abuse its patience."

Slender hands disappeared within the new cloak's voluminous sleeves.

"When we were inside the mines," the tall man continued after a moment's pause, "You followed my directions without question, did you not?"

"Yes."

"Did you suppose that they were dictated by irrational whim, or that I had a reason for each and every one of them?"

Obi-Wan blinked, brows lowering. "You had a reason, of course."

"Even though it was not apparent to you. Even though, in point of fact, I had deliberately blinded you to much of what I saw."

His apprentice swallowed and nodded, expression somber.

"Tell me this: while you obeyed my directions, what lead did I follow?"

This puzzled his young friend. "Your own."

"Did I?"

Obi-Wan's bright intelligence leapt swiftly forward. "Well. The Force? But you weren't blindfolded, master. I mean… well. Is it..?"

"Yes, it is the same, sometimes. Someday you will stand on your own, without my guidance. " He smiled at the pang of alarm this seemed to inspire in his student. "And yet there will still be occasions when you must obey without question, and occasionally without any _inkling_ what the reason may be. But that does not mean there is no reason, simply that you are blind to it."

They sat, brooding upon it for a space of heavy seconds.

"So you don't know the reason why the all those people perished?"

"I may never know. But I do not therefore doubt that some purpose penetrates and binds all things together. It is not our role to _know_ all things, Padawan. We come to serve. The will of the Force."

The burden of this calling seemed to settle momentarily upon young shoulders, bending the boy forward beneath the weight of destiny. Qui-Gon reached out hand, impulsively, and fingered the tiny braid where it hung behind his Padawan's ear.

"However, for the time being, I will settle for absolute unswerving obedience to my personal whim."

The heavy weight lifted, replaced by a more welcome and palpable fealty. The boy's eyes danced, with mingled relief and mischief. "I come to serve, master. I wish to be an _inspiration_ to all other Padawans."

"Perhaps we should meditate further on the _meaning_ of obedience, Obi-Wan."

"Alas, Master Uvain is expecting us. It is time to go." The boy scrambled to his feet, eagerly gesturing toward the path and the meandering route to the exit.

"And why of a sudden does _food _take precedence over wisdom, my young friend?"

Obi-Wan's brows rose delicately. "Because I said so, master," he drawled.

And then dashed away, his instinct for self-preservation in that moment taking precedence over both wisdom and food.

"Brat." Qui-Gon grumbled, and set off after him at a dignified pace, the Force seeming to chuckle quietly in his ear.

**Finis**


End file.
